Drawing Another Line
by Loafer
Summary: COMPLETE. Recently divorced Karen Vick reevaluates her relationship with her head detective after he issues a serious work-related ultimatum. Yes, Karlton. Yes, she's divorced. Yes, it's "make-believe."
1. Chapter 1: Showdown

**Disclaimer**: *snore*

**Rating**: T for now

**Summary**: First, Karlton. Second, kind of AU, because **Karen Vick is already divorced** and there is no Marlowe, although references may be made to episodes throughout S6. Third: at the urging of the inestimable Lawson227, I agreed to revamp my _Lassiter Draws The Line_ (a Lassiet) as a Karlton. In essence, Lassiter gets tired of how Shawn treats him, and does something about it… and gets Karen's attention in a big way. A good portion of this first chapter's dialogue is lifted from the original story, so if it seems familiar, that's why!

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen's head was aching and it wasn't even ten a.m. She'd already popped two Aleve and slugged back three cups of coffee and the pounding was still there. _Yay for me_, she thought, and headed grimly out to the coffee bar for another round. At this rate, she'd spend the rest of the day in the ladies' room.

Because she generally moved quickly and quietly, people engrossed in their own work or conversations sometimes didn't notice her approaching, something she considered a bit of a gift. It was nice to be able to 'materialize' when least expected. (It worked on Iris, too, she thought with a private grin, and had been very helpful in the year since her divorce, as Iris tested behavior boundaries with both parents.)

As she approached the coffee bar, she noted Shawn and Gus looming over Carlton's desk, their backs to her and blocking Carlton's view. O'Hara was on her way over, head down as she perused a file.

_Good. I can get coffee and get back to my office without having to be nice to anyone._

She veered into the coffee bar area, especially not in the mood for Shawn Spencer this morning.

"Lassie," he cajoled, "come on! It's time you had a date, don't you think?"

This caught her interest immediately—_and_ _why? Why would Carlton's love life interest her?_—and she glanced over to see his cool blue gaze on Spencer.

"I think if _you_ think I need a date, given the type of women you know, then I'm doing just fine."

O'Hara cleared her throat.

Carlton sighed. "Present company excluded."

She sat at Henry's desk with the folder, but Spencer was still talking. "I'm serious, Lassiefrass. You need a woman, and you need one _baaaaad_."

Guster was nodding. Karen contemplated tossing the container of sugar packets at them both. Spencer made an increasingly broad target these days, and if she aimed right, she could probably peg him squarely in the back of the head.

"Go away now," Carlton said flatly.

"Come on! You have to admit it's been a long time since you saw any action."

"And you would know this how?"

"Yeah, Shawn, you would know this how?" asked Gus.

Shawn scoffed. "No one who's gotten any action in the past five years would be as completely gloomy as he is."

Gus considered. "But you weren't gloomy in the five years before you finally talked Juliet into dating you."

Karen muffled a snort of laughter; Carlton didn't, and O'Hara only sighed. Karen wondered—not for the first time—why she tolerated Shawn's ongoing jeering of her partner, a man she knew O'Hara considered her best friend. A friend she was lucky to have, unless she'd forgotten this fundamental truth during her stint with Shawn.

"Gus, I can't do this with you right now. Lassi-saurus, I am fixing you up. I have just the date for you. I'm not saying she'll be pretty, or smart, or nice, or even a woman, but she'll be available, and you, good sir, will finally get—"

It was almost a snarl: "Spencer, _go away_."

"Can't make me," Shawn mocked.

Carlton sat up straight. "Yes, actually, I can." His hand didn't _quite_ reach for his Colt.

"Just listen. Don't you want to be happy, man? Don't you want to look at the world with _new_ giant eyes instead of the sad and lonely giant eyes you have now? Don't you want to see if you actually _remember_ sex?" His voice was getting louder, and other cops were starting to glance in their direction.

O'Hara looked a bit uncomfortable, but said nothing.

_Damn her_, Karen thought uncharitably.

Carlton's glare to Spencer was all ice. "Spencer, I have told you for the last time to get the hell away from my desk."

Shawn shrugged. "Apparently not very effectively, because here I am. You know, that lack of effectiveness could be due to your lack of a sex life. Which means that maybe your lack of a sex life is why I have to keep solving cases for you. Everyone! Show of hands if you think Lassie needs to get—"

"Mr. Spencer!" Karen snapped, striding across the hall, her cup still empty. "I believe you're going to shut the hell up now."

He whirled—Gus too—and O'Hara sat up straight at Henry's desk. Carlton was wary, a flush to his face and his blue eyes lit with anger he clearly still felt.

"Chief," Shawn started cheerfully.

"What is _wrong_ with you, Spencer?" she demanded. "What is this deep-seated need you have to mock and embarrass other people? Did Henry raise you this way? Would your mother be proud of you? Because _I'm_ not, and before you smart off, please remember I give you the occasional paycheck."

"Chief," he tried again, as Gus backed off.

"I don't want to hear it. In fact, I don't want to ever hear it again. To the best of my knowledge you have not been hired for any case, so please remove yourself and your associate from the police station and do not return until you are summoned. Is that clear?"

Gus was already gone. Shawn mumbled, "Yes, ma'am," and followed.

Karen turned on her heel to finally refill her coffee cup, aware that Carlton left his desk and strode off without a word, and she was glad, because she had one more thing to say, and it was to Juliet, who returned to her desk quietly.

"You know, O'Hara," she said with chilly politeness, "seems to me I wouldn't have had to do that if Lassiter had a partner who'd take up for him now and then."

Juliet's eyes grew wide and her mouth opened, but Karen didn't wait to hear the excuse. She was tired of watching the carefully-won excellent partnership between Carlton and O'Hara disintegrate bit by bit under the influence of Shawn Spencer.

She headed back to her office, but spotted Carlton at Booking signing forms, so she aimed herself at his tall, lean frame, allowing a familiar little _he's so attractive_ thought to tickle the back of her brain.

He looked up when she was near, expression shuttered. Remote. Cool.

Officer Allen stepped to the other side of the counter and Karen said briskly, "I know. You're trying to decide whether to thank me for stepping in or to tell me you're a big boy and you didn't need me to step in." She sipped her coffee, trying to read his unwittingly expressive eyes.

But there was no chance for a response, because McNab joined them hurriedly. "Chief, Boss—double homicide at Brighton Park."

He handed a slip of paper to Carlton, who read the address quickly and nodded at Karen with a quick "We're on it."

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Three hours later, Lassiter sat heavily in his chair, tired not from the crime scene but from the anger. He was so very _very_ tired of being angry about Spencer's antics (long past being angered by the antics themselves; _if you've seen one narcissist, you've seen them all_).

They'd been investigating two homicides in the park, and Spencer, who had followed them over there despite Karen's warning, had gone out of his way—really, extraordinarily out of his way—to mock and belittle Lassiter in front of all present, from other cops to curious onlookers. The only reason Lassiter wasn't on suspension right now is that Guster and McNab, encouraged very nearly at gunpoint by O'Hara, had stuffed Spencer into the stupid little blue car and driven him out of reach.

He didn't hate Spencer, contrary to popular belief; he could see the idiot-man was intelligent and certainly he made case-solving observations quickly. While Lassiter's preference was certainly that police matters be handled by actual trained, competent, able-to-use-silverware-effectively _police_ staff, he wasn't so arrogant as to assume consultants had no value, and God knows Spencer had certainly come to his aid during the Drimmer business. Even Bobo the Donut Man sprang to mind as an example of Spencer not being completely _un_helpful.

But these constant _public_ attacks in the name of 'humor'—those had to stop. They had to stop for good.

He got up to refill his coffee mug, and moments later, Spencer breezed past on his way to corral his father.

"Dad!" he said peremptorily. "I want in on Lassie's case."

Henry didn't look up from his computer. "Aren't you always on Lassiter's case?"

"Ha ha. Oh ha. Ha and a double ha." He paused. "Actually, that _was_ pretty funny. Props to you. But you know what I mean. The case he and Jules just got."

"I don't even know what that is, Shawn. Mostly like _you_ don't even know what it is."

"Doesn't matter. I want in."

Henry leaned back in his chair, surveying his son. "How am I supposed to make a case for you being on the case if you don't even know what the case is?" In a sharper tone, he demanded, "Is this about a bill you can't pay?"

"Dad, just get me on the case!"

"I need more information," Henry declared, and walked away from his desk; Spencer followed and Lassiter returned to his seat.

Juliet appeared to drop a folder on his desk, and gave him a careful once-over. "You okay?"

Lassiter looked at her over the top of his mug. "Stop worrying. I'm not going postal."

_Yet._

The expression in her eyes was both kind and fierce. "I'm so sorry about earlier, in the park."

"It's not your fault. In fact, O'Hara, you went above and beyond to control the situation." _First time in awhile_, he reflected. _Like she finally remembered we're in this cop thing together_. "What's new on our victims?"

"Lassie-saurus!" Spencer declared, coming up behind Juliet, startling her and making Lassiter's jaw clench again. "My dad says I'm in. Now, for my first trick, I'm going to pull a rabbit out of your giant ears, and then I'm going to take you shopping for new cologne, and then I'll—"

"Shawn!" Juliet interrupted angrily. "Stop it right now."

Clearly, Karen's admonition had already been forgotten. _Shocker_, he thought.

He beamed at her. "I told you, Jules, I'm just playing. Like last week when you said you wouldn't—"

"_Shawn_!"

Lassiter was intrigued. Her level of anger at Spencer was fascinating because he hadn't seen anything like this since Spencer had forced her father back into her life. Beyond that, he found his own annoyance with Spencer intensified by the fact that he was pissing Juliet off. He stood up abruptly, taking the case folder. "Spencer, if you'll excuse us, and frankly, even if you won't, my partner and I need to go speak with the Chief."

Juliet didn't protest at being forced in the direction of Vick's office; his glance at her showed she was fuming, but obviously not at him. Kinda nice, he thought, to not be the only one torked off at Spencer for a change.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen was at her desk going over statistics, and when Carlton and O'Hara came in, she gestured at them to sit. Shawn Spencer of course followed, whistling some slap-happy tune. She gritted her teeth. "Give me the rundown. Mr. Spencer, I take it your father okayed your involvement?" _Because your ass had better be here for a damn good reason._

"So far as you know," he said nonchalantly.

Carlton sat in one chair, and Juliet the other, as Karen—unamused and moderately homicidal—said with deliberate precision, "Mr. Spencer. If I call Henry in here, is he going to say he thinks you should be on the case?"

"Of course he will!" He perched on the table in the corner until her glare encouraged him to use a chair properly.

"Because I distinctly remember telling you quite clearly only a few hours ago to stay the _hell_ out of my station until you were specifically invited, and I'm _quite _sure none of us did that, since no one on _this_ side of the room is an idiot."

For some reason the old line about the Texas murder defense spring to mind: _he needed killin'._

It must have reflected in her expression, because Shawn had the sense to look a bit cowed. "Well, Chief, I just... well, I..."

Henry walked by the open door with Guster, and Karen called them in sharply. "Henry—"

Shawn interrupted. "Okay, okay, he didn't _exactly_ say I could be on it, but he didn't say I couldn't. He just said he needed more information."

"Well, so do I," Karen said, and turned to Carlton. "Sum it up, please? I have a meeting in ten minutes." She thought he looked weary, but his blue eyes were still vivid and he always, but _always_, knew how to focus on the job.

_So should you. You don't have time to deal with Shawn's button-pushing right now._

"Two white males, both between the ages of 45 and 60, no ID, not _obviously_ homeless, at the south edge of the park. Victim 1 was knifed; Victim 2 held the knife and had been shot in the head. No gun found at the scene."

"You know," Shawn interrupted, "there's really no such thing as _obviously_ homeless anymore."

"Shut up, Shawn," Juliet said, clearly annoyed, which interested Karen. Maybe her brief little smackdown earlier had done some good.

"No, really. They wear better clothes and sometimes they'll even have cell phones and—"

Karen sighed. "Mr. Spencer, _please_. Lassiter, continue."

"We're waiting for prints and DNA, and the autopsy to retrieve the bullet; we're canvassing the area and running their photos through the system. Until we get an ID or a witness, we're in limbo."

"How loooow can you goooo?" Shawn slid out of his chair, doing a limbo dance sans pole, then straightened up. "Chief, while Lassie here was wasting time adjusting his military garters, I was talking to the spirits. They tell me that the knifed victim wasn't knifed by the man holding the knife."

She was annoyed on Carlton's behalf, but gave him her attention. "Do they now?"

"Yes. The guy with the knife was right-handed but the knife was in his left hand. Have I used the word 'knife' too many times in the last thirty seconds?"

"You're suggesting there was a third person there who killed them both?" Henry inquired.

With relative calm, Carlton said, "Again, we're canvassing, running photos and waiting for test results. At this point I don't see the need for—"

"How can you not see with eyes that freakishly huge? Come on, Lassie, don't slow me down again. Don't get in the way of solving the case like you always do when I'm here to save the day!"

Carlton looked at him, and Karen, no stranger to observing body language, could almost _feel_ his anger building.

Just like hers was.

Still, she quickly cut off whatever Carlton might have said. "Fine, go talk to the spirits while we wait for the results. Lassiter, O'Hara, you can—"

Shawn was crowing. Actually crowing. Henry said his name sharply, and Gus nudged him hard in the arm, eliciting a gasp of pain.

Juliet said, almost desperately, "Chief, I think maybe Shawn should sit this one out until we know we actually need him."

Karen raised her eyebrows. "I hear you, but really, just get to work, O'Hara, and maybe you'll have it solved before he's finished pirouetting."

"That was not a pirouette," Shawn protested. Gus grabbed his arm and yanked him out, and Henry, shrugging, followed.

Juliet looked unhappy.

And Carlton looked… _oh, hell_. Karen's senses started prickling, more so when he got up and closed the door to her office.

"Yes?"

"One question," he said evenly, and she knew this wasn't going to be good.

"A question which requires the door to be closed?" She leaned back in her chair, arms folded.

"It's a long one," he elucidated coolly. "Do you assign Spencer to us because I'm the Head Detective and O'Hara is my partner and we therefore tend to get the complex, high-profile cases where outside help might be required, or do you assign him to us because you don't think I'm competent to do the job without him?"

She was taken aback. "_What_?"

"Because if it's the former, Chief, then honestly, I don't want to be Head Detective anymore. You can promote O'Hara, give her a new partner Spencer likes better, and put me with the other rank-and-file detectives."

"What?" she exclaimed again. "What the hell—"

"But if it's the latter," he continued, icy now, "and you _do_ think I'm not competent to do my job without his help, then my badge and letter of resignation will be on your desk in the morning."

"Lassiter!" Karen snapped, but was more shocked than angry. "Spencer is an authorized consultant and it's no insult to _anyone_ when we call him in!"

"No," he agreed. "It's not. What's an insult is the way he acts at crime scenes. The way he acts in meetings like this one, uninvited or not." After a second he added deliberately, "Or how he acted at my desk earlier today."

She was fighting to remain calm, as Juliet sputtered anxiously in her seat. "He's a showman, Carlton, and you've had six years to get used to that. You know he doesn't mean half of what he says." She herself knew it, which didn't stop her wanting to thwop the man upside the head on a regular basis.

"This isn't about the personal insults. You think I'm not capable of handling myself? You think I haven't been hearing about my big ears and my crooked nose and how I'm uptight since I was a kid? You think I'm not capable of beating the _crap_ out of him and never leaving a single mark?" His blue eyes were fierce, and she felt pinned in place. "That's not the point. The point is how he acts in public, in front of witnesses, victims, other cops, and the media. The point is how he publicly ridicules my abilities as a _cop_. It gets in the way of doing the job, Karen, because now I'm not just trying to work a case but also trying to get past everyone's reactions to the stupid-ass crap he spews to discredit me."

She stared at him, as did Juliet, and the clock ticked far too loudly in the silence.

_The stallion is out of his stall, and God help anyone who thinks he's going back in without a fight._

"Like just now, three minutes ago. How many times did he manage to work into his monologue that I'm a bad cop? And that's okay with everyone. I'm not saying you should defend me—I don't need anyone to defend me, because my record should speak for itself. But nobody even thinks twice about what he says anymore, and though that might be _borderline_ tolerable here in the station, it's totally unacceptable out in the field where his constant public attacks interfere with getting the damn work done."

Juliet tried to speak but Carlton held up a hand to stop her.

"I know it's impossible to change him, and even if he promised to keep his piehole shut, he wouldn't, and we all know it. Again, that's not the point." With a sigh, a terribly final sort of sigh, he said flatly, "But I'm done being publicly undermined. I'm _done_. If he can't work a case without insulting me—and by extension the entire Santa Barbara Police Department because you're stupid enough to have an incompetent dolt as your head detective—then he shouldn't work with me at all. Either demote me so I can get some real work done, or accept my resignation." He went to the door while Juliet was scrambling to get up. He paused to add, "I know this is an ultimatum and I apologize for springing it on you like this. But enough's enough, Karen." He strode out.

Juliet made it to her feet and was halfway to the door—never mind Karen's reaction to all this—when she turned back to say urgently, "Don't you even think about giving me a new partner. It's Carlton or nobody, Chief, and that's _my_ ultimatum."

Karen was abruptly alone in the room, and completely unable to think straight.

It had been a long time since she'd felt so utterly blown away… and yet… so _mesmerized_.

Turning to look through the window which faced Carlton's desk, she saw him moving rapidly to collect his jacket, presumably focused on getting the hell out as fast as he could. Near him, Shawn and Juliet were intersecting; Shawn's aim was to cut her off, and the two of them converged in the small space directly in front of Carlton.

Still stunned, Karen got up and went to her door and listened.

Shawn said, "So! Who wants to go visit Woody?"

"Carlton," Juliet started, ignoring him.

"Jules! Don't interrupt." He put a hand on her shoulder and she jerked back; his eyes widened and just for a moment, he stopped talking.

"Excuse me," Carlton said flatly. Juliet grasped his arm, and Shawn jumped in front of him. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

"Shawn, leave." Juliet let go of Carlton and glared at Shawn.

"What's up with Mr. Roboto? Do you think he could actually shoot real lasers out of those eyes?" Shawn peered at him with mock interest. "Come on, Woody said he had the preliminary ready, so we gotta jet."

"Spencer," Carlton ground out, "if you don't get the hell out of my way, I will shoot you where you stand."

Shawn blinked. Then he grinned. "Let me lie down first. Be more comfortable."

"Shawn!" Juliet nearly yelled, rounding on him. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Leave it, O'Hara. I'm out for the rest of the day." Carlton pushed through at last, and it probably wasn't an accident that his shove to Shawn's shoulder was harder than it needed to be.

He glanced coolly at Karen as he passed her office, and she clearly read the _I really could not care less what any damn person thinks right now_ in the stormy blue sea of his eyes.

When Juliet dashed after her partner, Shawn tried to pursue, but he was jerked short by his father, who said loud enough for all to hear, "Think again, boy. The lady has a gun."

Karen wasn't sure why, but she had to follow her detectives. She had to get a grip on this before it spun completely out of control.

_Oh, honey. You're ten seconds late to _that_ party._

When she caught up with them in the parking lot, she was in time to hear Juliet say fervently, "You know he doesn't mean the things he said. Your record speaks for itself, and—"

"Yes, exactly!" he snapped. "My record _does_ speak for itself, O'Hara, but it can't speak up at a_ crime scene_. And I don't care whether he means what he says or not. He could have a shrine to me in his apartment for all I care. It doesn't matter. What matters is the public perception when I'm trying to do my job." He raked his hand through his hair. "Hell, maybe you should jump at the chance for a new partner. You might be a lot happier."

"No," she shot back angrily. "You are the best—" She turned her head suddenly, tears in her eyes, and saw Karen.

Carlton's gaze pierced her effortlessly. "I'm taking the day, Chief. Before things get any worse."

She held up her hands; a gesture of peace. "Lassiter. _Carlton_—I think we need to talk about this some more."

Did she sound helpless? She felt helpless.

"Yes," Juliet agreed. "We do. Please come back inside."

"Not today." He unlocked his car door, his movements all steel and fire and grace. "I'm not good for anything today, not now, and as long as Spencer's lurking, consider me gone. Chief, you can assign that case to another team if O'Hara doesn't want to work it by herself with Spencer. But I won't be in on it. You understand?" He slid in, slammed the door, and started the engine.

_Yeah. Helpless was a good word_, Karen thought, watching him drive away rapidly.

_Who was this man?_

And why did she have a sick feeling this had all been completely _her_ problem to prevent?

And a far worse feeling that letting him resign would be a huge mistake personally as well as professionally?

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	2. Chapter 2: Reconnoiter

**CHAPTER TWO: Reconnoiter **

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Clint Eastwood growled to the punk who was about to make his day, and Lassiter lay on the sofa, drink in hand, not hearing him.

He was crazy. He had to be.

He'd been thinking about this for a long time, but until the words escaped his mouth this morning he'd had no idea he would ever say them out loud.

Step down? From the position he'd earned so young and cherished all these years?

He drank, and marveled at the _other_ words which had flown out of him today: that he'd resign. Words spoken—without hesitation—in front of not only his partner but also his supervisor, the freaking Chief of Police.

And yet…

And yet he had no regrets. Being Head Detective and aiming at the Chief's position had become less something he wanted and more something he felt was _expected_ of him in the past half decade. The idea of endless workdays spent immersed in paperwork and meetings—because he knew now that's what being Chief meant—was anathema to what he loved most about his job, which was catching the bad guys: being a _detective_.

For Juliet's sake, he hoped she would take whatever partner Karen Vick gave her. It would be better for her career than to stick with the guy who stepped down, because no matter what was said officially, there would be unofficial speculation as to why he was doing it, such as whether he was being demoted against his will, and Juliet along with him. He didn't want to do that to her. He would _not_ do that to her.

She'd be okay with a new partner. Career-wise, she'd be better off. And personally… well… he imagined it wouldn't be all that hard for her sunny self to break ties with him.

Of course, Karen might just accept his resignation. And why shouldn't she? What was there to salvage?

Lassiter set the glass down sharply on the coffee table, knowing he was being overdramatic. He did bring value to the department; he _did_, and Karen _knew_ he did, and she wasn't stupid and she wasn't going to let him resign.

... yeah ...

... probably.

But now, niggling at his brain, demanding to be heard, was a little tiny bit of wonder: that Karen had defended him today. She'd appeared out of nowhere and cut Spencer off at the knees, for _him_.

Okay, maybe it was only to shut Spencer up and get him out of there. Still…

He remembered the fire in her deep brown eyes and the heat in her tone, and understood instinctively where the old "_you're beautiful when you're angry_" line came from, because she was (and not only when she was angry).

_Watch it. She's your boss._

Rolling his eyes, he took up the glass again and finished off Jack Daniel's amber forgetful juice. She'd defended him. There'd been a time when Juliet might have—

_No… wait. _

Lassiter considered, and the truth of it was that he really couldn't think of any time, ever, when Juliet had done what Karen did. She would shush Spencer when he was too loud or when his Lassiter-bashing was taking too long, and now and then she'd jump in and yell at both of them to knock it off (that is, _after_ he sank down to Spencer's level), but never anything more than that.

Which meant…

Huh.

Which meant that in one rather spectacular showdown, Karen Vick had done something no else had done for him in his adult life.

Granted, she had the authority to back it up, but honestly, he wasn't sure that made a difference. He could easily imagine her stomping Spencer without any authority at all.

Hell, now he was smiling.

And she really was beautiful, angry or otherwise; those big dark eyes and her honey blonde hair and _dammit, this is your boss you're edging toward fantasizing about_.

_Hey. She's divorced. And I'm half-drunk. Anything goes. And it wouldn't be the first time I've had those thoughts._

_You're still an ass._

_Yeah. Have another drink anyway. _

He didn't, but he fell asleep on the sofa to the sound of Eastwood's gunfire.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen's night was long and unsettled. As if in sympathy, Iris had a nightmare about a horror movie she and her friend Lissa had secretly watched during a sleepover (Karen was going to have a word with Lissa's mother about that, yes indeedy), so the two of them were up sipping cocoa awhile, and long after Iris fell back asleep, Karen lay awake beside her thinking about how to solve the Carlton problem.

Which was really the Spencer problem, because he was at the root of it all.

The time she spent thinking _other_ things about Carlton, well, she wasn't yet willing to dwell on in daylight.

At the station in the morning, with no real plan of action, she knew she had to give Carlton some interim "hang in there" answer at the very least.

For a few moments, she watched him through the glass of her office window.

Silver-lit black hair, long graceful fingers tapping at his keyboard. From time to time he paused to take a sip of coffee and she could see even through the blinds the startling bright blue of his eyes. The perpetual frown creasing his forehead did nothing to detract from his appeal, an appeal she had no business noticing.

_You're divorced._

_But he's my employee._

_He's a man. And not just any man. He was there for you when you gave birth to your daughter. He learned to accept you as his supervisor over his own interest in the job. He's… adapted over the years. And his eyes are just so damned blue, and we're not _even_ going to talk about the tantalizing glimpse of chest hair when his top button is—_

Enough of _that_, she decided, fanning herself briefly.

He and Juliet were talking as she approached; Juliet handed him a report.

"What's the status on the park case?" he asked.

"I told Henry I wanted Shawn off of it, so it's all ours again."

His dark eyebrows went up. "He agreed?"

"I was cleaning my gun at the time."

This made Carlton smirk, an unmistakable smirk, and Karen couldn't speak for Juliet, but _she_ felt better seeing it. "Woody's autopsy results are in the folder. No GSR on either victim."

"So the third shooter theory holds water," he mused, and didn't sound the least bitter about it.

"Detectives," Karen interrupted when she was close enough. "A word, please."

Juliet and Carlton looked at each other silently, and followed Karen back to her office.

Closing the door herself, she returned to her desk and sat down, considering them each in turn before speaking. "I'll be brief. I haven't made a decision about any of this yet. It was a lot to take in, and it's not at all a straightforward matter."

Carlton nodded, and Karen read his body language as accepting.

"However, make no mistake—I _am_ taking it seriously. And Carlton, I'd like to offer my apology for letting the situation get to this point. What you said yesterday was true: Shawn's behavior has had a negative effect upon the entire department, not just you, on many occasions, and we have _all_ been far too tolerant of his specific… behaviors… toward you." She felt uncomfortable, as if these words were… really, nothing at all. _Nothing._ Just stupid, useless _words_.

"Thank you, Chief," he said quietly, blue gaze unreadable.

Karen nodded to Juliet. "I made note of your declaration as well, Detective."

Juliet nodded back, not meeting Carlton's curious glance.

"I need time," she said simply. "I need to figure out what to do. But I'll tell you this right now, Carlton. I will _not_ accept your resignation, even if it's drizzled in Godiva chocolate and served on a golden tray by a troupe of Chippendale dancers who also do light housecleaning."

His eyebrows went up and his color changed, and Juliet stared at him unabashedly with complete glee.

"You get that? Detective?"

A slow and very cautious smile lit his face. "Yes, ma'am. I get that."

Looking into his eyes in that long moment, Karen felt… something… shift between them, but it had to be in her tired head, and once again she reminded herself that she was his supervisor and it didn't matter that she'd been divorced a year: some things should not be.

But as he and Juliet left her office, she asked herself why.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"Godiva!" Juliet was still laughing. "I told you so, Carlton. I _told_ you—"

He cut her off as he pulled in at the coffee shop. "Don't get cocky. She might still let me step down."

"I'll get cocky if I want to, because I know she won't. _You_ know she won't. You are staying on top, partner."

Lassiter gave her a look, but was amused by her amusement.

"Besides," she went on, unfastening her seatbelt, "she is too smart a woman to let _both_ of us step down."

"There's no stepping down for you," he protested. "No matter what happens with my job, none of it affects you. Even if I _let_ you," he emphasized, earning a frown, "keep being my partner if I join the rank and file, nothing happens to your status in the department. I mean, except for being laughed at for hanging on to the—"

"Shut it," she warned him.

He knew that tone, and changed tack. "Look. You're pinning your hopes on what Karen might do, but what you need to keep in mind is what _I won't_ do. And what I won't do is put up with any more crap from Spencer." He kept his tone even, and left out descriptive words such as 'asshat,' 'idiot,' and 'your narcissistic blowhard lying stealing twerp of a boyfriend.'

Juliet was quiet, and a quick glance told him she was unhappy—but not angry with him. He'd learned her different expressions over the years. "I know." Her voice was soft. "I'm sorry about him. About everything. About how I've let things get out of hand."

Lassiter felt weary again—so common these days, as if the very _name_ Spencer sapped his strength. "It wasn't just you, O'Hara. I let it go on too long, too."

"What could you have done? He's… he's so…" She trailed off.

"Even a jet can be brought down by a high-flying goose," he said dryly.

Juliet grinned, just a little, as if she felt guilty even for thinking about it. "No reason we can't train a goose to follow him around." She put her hand on the door. "I'm buying your coffee. The usual?"

He agreed, and leaned back yawning in the seat while she went in.

That had been quite some declaration by Karen earlier. He still felt a bit warm.

No, it wasn't personal. How could it be personal? They were boss and employee. But that look… the look in her warm brown eyes… it felt personal. It felt private. Never mind Juliet sitting there; for a moment he and Karen had been completely alone.

_You need to nip that crap in the bud, laddie. What you're thinking _cannot_ be._

But in the moments before Juliet returned to the car, he asked himself why.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"Henry!" Karen said briskly as the man passed her open office door mid-afternoon. "I have eight minutes before my conference call and every one of those minutes is for you."

The elder Spencer looked askance at her, but came in and took her cue to close the door. "What's up, Chief?"

She closed her laptop and smiled. "Well, Mr. Liaison, I need to relay a complaint to you about one of our consultants."

Henry passed a weary hand over his eyes. "Oh hell, is it that idiot Pennington? I told him, in no uncertain terms, that we would _not_ reimburse his medical expenses if he tried to recreate the victim's injury on his own thick skull!"

Karen arched one brow. "Fascinating. But no. The agency is Psych, and the complainant is me."

He sighed, a more familiar exasperation overtaking his features. "What did Shawn do now?"

"Now? What did he do _now_?"

Henry eyed her. He was a very, very smart man, far too smart to think her bright tone was sincere. "Out with it."

"When I asked you to come in as consultant liaison, I had two goals in mind. The first goal, as you know, was to have someone manage and monitor the various individuals and companies we use to help us solve our cases, from hiring to firing to payment."

He nodded warily.

"The second goal—more of a dream, really—was that you'd be able to exert some influence over your son. I figured if anyone could, it'd be you. Henry Spencer doesn't let much get past him, right?"

"Karen—"

"Obviously that second goal was just wishful thinking. Hell, I'll say it right out: it was stupid. Your son is a wrecking ball, Henry. He's a tsunami. He's Godzilla _and_ Mothra taking out an entire city. He's an invasion of locusts followed by killer bees, fire ants, and Walmart shoppers. He's like a—"

Henry rolled his eyes. "I _get_ it already. This is where you ask me how my son turned out the way he did."

"No, not at all. He's an adult and he makes his own way. Usually at the expense of others, but that's neither here nor there. No, _this_ is where I tell you that I want to pretend for the moment he's just another consultant under your control." _As if._

"Umm… okay?"

"Because it simplifies everything, you see. Breaks the problem down to its most basic level."

His notoriously short supply of patience was running low. "Which is?"

Karen sat back, feeling both jazzed and yet oddly calm. "I have had enough of this particular consultant dragging my officers through the funhouse. He is unacceptably insulting to them and to the department as a whole. When he's interviewed by the press, he always manages to make it seem somehow, and oh so _very_ subtly, that he did everything himself and we were just scrambling to keep up as well as heart-breakingly grateful for his kind assistance. In short, Henry, I'm tired of him acting like an ass."

Henry met her gaze squarely, his cool pale blue gaze unyielding. "This is about Lassiter."

Karen only looked at him.

"Oh come _on_, Karen. People don't always get along, you know, and I shouldn't have to tell you Lassiter's a grown—"

"Stop," she commanded. "Don't you even finish that sentence. What you need to understand is that I don't _care_ if you don't like him. I don't care if Shawn doesn't like him. In fact, you could go so far as to say I don't give a rat's ass whether _anyone_ likes him, because it's totally irrelevant to any part of this discussion. We are here to work. The consultants are here to help us when we request it. They are not here to disrupt, disrespect, or disregard either the protocols of the department or the basic courtesy professionals should expect from each other." She stopped for breath, and to shoot him an even icier glare.

He was still, watching and waiting. Smart man.

"I need you to pass a message on to Psych," she said more evenly. "The message is this: change is coming. It could be big, it could be little, it could be they'll need to find some other police chief to drive insane. I don't know yet, because I'm still weighing my options. But there _will_ be change, Henry, and just about every damn bit of it's going to fall on Shawn and Gus. You pass that on for me. Okay?"

After a long pause—and never looking away—he nodded slowly. "I will deliver the message personally."

"Thank you," she said coolly, and glanced at her watch. Her mood ought to make for an interesting budget conversation with the mayor's office.

"No, no," he said as he got up, his smile wry. "Thank _you_."

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Lassiter was too unsettled by everything to let himself simply go home and drink, and he didn't feel like going to the firing range (which was unheard of). He'd missed his morning run due to the alcohol-related headache which had woken him, so he was making up for lost time.

In his sweats and a faded Academy tee, he started out from his condo and ran an unimaginative line straight out from Prospect Gardens, opting for simplicity while his brain tried to sort out the events of the past twenty-four hours as well as the park homicide case.

Spencer and Guster had stayed away from the station, either because of Karen's admonition or because—and he suspected this was the deciding factor—Juliet had warned them off as well. She hadn't spoken much of Spencer during the day, but a tightness to her tone sometimes made him wonder if she hadn't read her own riot act to the gel-head.

Not that Spencer usually listened to her, either, but there was a first time for everything.

He was in a shopping district which bordered an upscale-ish residential area when his watch and the fading light suggested he turn back toward home. Ahead of him, a woman and young child exited a yogurt shop, and no sooner had the word _Karen_ formed in his mind than she lifted her gaze to his and immediately smiled brilliantly.

"Carlton," she said with what sounded like genuine pleasure, and he stopped in front of them.

"Hey, Karen." He smiled at her daughter while catching his breath.

The little girl, nearly seven now, had dark brown curls and dark brown eyes to match her mother's; in one hand she held a frozen yogurt and in the other, a book. "Hi," she said matter-of-factly, and sampled her chocolate treat.

"Hello, Iris."

Her expression brightened. "I know you. You're Carlton."

For some reason, the sound of his name—the fact that she knew it—knew _him_—did a funny thing to his heart.

Karen explained, "She's seen you on TV."

"And you were there when I was born!" Iris seemed very happy about this, and Lassiter had a powerful urge to hug her for no damn reason. But in the next second, her pretty little face fell. "I don't remember it," she admitted.

He smiled. "Well, you were only thirty seconds old. Maybe if you'd been seven or eight minutes old you'd remember."

She laughed, and nearly broke his heart, and when he looked at Karen, the light in her eyes did the rest of the job.

"I, um, thought you did your running before work," she said somewhat breathlessly, which surely he was imagining.

He chose his words carefully. "I… wasn't up to it this morning."

"Long visit with _Jack_ last night?"

Her perception skills were what made her a good Chief. "Some days call for long visits," he said neutrally.

"It _will_ get better," Karen said firmly.

He said honestly, "It already is."

Iris interrupted. "Who's Jack?"

_Yeah, we're not going there_. "Just a friend. What are you reading?"

"_Mercy Watson Fights Crime_!" she exclaimed.

He couldn't help but laugh, and Karen's grin made him feel all-too-mellow and warm on the inside. "Did your mom pick that out for you?"

"Oh no," Karen assured him. "She chose it from the library all on her own. Can't say I mind, though."

"Guess not." For a second he forgot how to look away from her.

Iris said, quite crossly, "Silly shoe."

They both followed her gaze; the lace on her shoe was undone, and Lassiter knelt at once to re-tie it for her, putting him eye-level with the little girl whose umbilical cord he'd cut all those years ago, when he and Karen were finding their way as boss/employee, when he was still recovering from the damage he'd done to his career as well as Lucinda Barry's, when he was working out his new partnership with the fresh-faced, cheerful Juliet O'Hara.

When he had no reason to suspect that one day Karen Vick would be able to make his heart race simply because he could tie her daughter's shoe.

Iris beamed at him. Her dark brown eyes, so like her mother's, were warm and beautiful and she gave him an impromptu hug, the book slapping him on the back and by God a sploosh of frozen yogurt landing on his shoulder, but did he care? No he did not.

When he stood up, Karen was staring at him in what he could only call wonder—and even if it was only because she couldn't believe her daughter would want anything to do with _him_, it was still a lovely, lovely sight.

"Good night, ladies," he said, feeling strangely heady. "Good luck to Mercy," he added for Iris, then gave them both a wave and ran like hell toward home.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen gently pried the Mercy Watson book from Iris' hand, pulling the blanket up higher and bending to kiss her forehead. "Time to sleep, sweetie."

A frustrated moue turned into a yawn, and Iris snuggled into her pillow. "I wish Carlton was in my book," she murmured.

Karen froze. "Really? Why's that?"

"He could catch all the bad guys. And his eyes are _so_ pretty," she sighed, as hers closed against the world.

That they were, Karen thought.

She had watched him jog away from them, unable to take her eyes off his retreating frame. Stalling Iris, who was impatient now to get home, she'd pretended to be looking for something in her purse. But she was only watching Carlton.

The way he was with Iris… comfortable and yet wondering, almost mesmerized. The way he looked in his tee and sweats, so very _male_, so very… she swallowed. The blue of his eyes had become Mediterranean, a sea of unfathomable depths, as he gazed between her and Iris.

_I want to get to know him better._

_So you can stuff that "it should not be" crap._

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	3. Chapter 3: Forays

**CHAPTER THREE: FORAYS**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The cell phone trilled, and Lassiter glanced at the screen.

Deep sigh. "What is it, Spencer?"

"Lassie, don't hang up."

"Give me one reason, in five seconds: go."

"I need to see the Chief."

"So call the Chief."

"She's not taking my calls."

"Guess you can't see her, then. Goodbye—"

"Wait! Look, I need your help. I need you to get me an audience with her."

"Spencer, am I now or have I ever been Chief Vick's social secretary?"

There was a pause. Lassiter knew Spencer was biting back some unnecessarily snarky response, and the thought of this internal struggle brought him a bit of joy.

"Spencer? Can we wrap this up?"

"Lassiter, it's important. I wouldn't be asking you, of all people, if it weren't _important_."

"Which means both your father and your girlfriend turned you down."

Another pause. "I've heard it both ways."

He didn't want to talk to him anymore. "I'll tell her you're asking. That's all I can do." He disconnected over Spencer's _thanks_, and looked across the bullpen to the window into Karen's office.

He hadn't seen her this morning, not face-to-face. It wasn't unusual; between her obligations and the caseload he and Juliet had going at any given time, some days would pass with only quick exchanges of _hello_ at the coffee bar and his brief updates to her about active cases.

The blinds were adjusted differently today, he noticed. He could see her more clearly, at her desk, head bent, concentration in her body language.

This would not be a good time to talk to her about Spencer.

But suddenly he really wanted to talk to her.

_What? Why?_

_Because… because… dammit, she's…_

He felt like a fool.

_Because she's pretty_, said his inner sixteen-year-old boy miserably. _And…_

And what?

_And…_ _I like her_.

His outer forty-three-year-old scowled and broke a pencil in half.

"Carlton?" Juliet asked cautiously from across the hall. "You okay?"

Heat flooded his face, as if anyone could possibly guess what he'd been thinking. "Why does Spencer want to see Vick?"

She blinked. "I don't know."

Was that a lie? He stared at her meaningfully until she rolled her eyes and came over to his desk.

"Well, I _don't_ know," she repeated. "But he begged me to get her to talk to him."

"Why didn't you help him?" Because she almost always helped him.

Juliet gave him the 'you're an idiot' look. "Because if he wants it that bad, he must be in trouble, and if he's in trouble, Chief Vick does _not_ want to see him, and if she doesn't want to see him, uh, am I _stupid_?" She crossed her arms, glaring now.

Lassiter grinned. "No, O'Hara, you are not stupid."

"And he _is_ in trouble. Gus told me Henry gave them what for last night."

"Really. How interesting."

"Which means," she concluded triumphantly, "Vick gave _him_ what for."

"Gave who what for?" asked Karen mildly. "Bad sentence structure aside."

_How the _hell_ did she get out of her office and down the hall so fast? _

She was holding her empty mug, her curious gaze on the two of them, and she was especially crisp and lovely today, damn her.

Juliet was embarrassed. "Chief…"

Lassiter cut to the chase. "Spencer wants to talk to you."

Karen smiled sweetly. "How nice." She went to the coffee bar, Juliet opted (*_brawk* *brawk_*) to head rapidly toward Booking, and Lassiter got up to join Karen.

"He called a few minutes ago. Sounded pretty desperate. I mean, for Spencer."

"All sound and fury," she mused as she poured, "signifying nothing." She glanced up, her smile unexpectedly warm. "Nice tie. Suits your eyes."

He felt his face warming again, dammit. "Ah. Thanks." His feet wanted to carry him away as fast as they had last night, but she spoke again.

"Can you come to the planning meeting with me this afternoon? I'd like you to offer up your expertise on crime stats within the city limits."

_She knows all that already_. Still… "Of course. What time?"

"Two o'clock. You'll drive?" She gave him another unduly warm smile, and he melted just a little bit. Not enough to affect his ability to nod and walk back to his desk.

_What the hell. Is wrong. With you?_

He watched her stroll back to her office, helplessly admiring her hips and the way her slacks fit her curves, and when no one was looking, he snapped three more pencils in half.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

At her desk, Karen stole a look through the blinds to her right. She'd adjusted them ever so slightly earlier in the morning so she could have a better view of… well… the man she now officially had a crush on.

She couldn't say where it had come from exactly, this crush. Maybe she was just post-divorce lonely. And it wasn't as if she had forgotten all the ways Carlton Lassiter could drive her bonkers professionally, and surely would again. He was a hothead, much too damn quick to draw his weapon, prone to pomposity when group attention was focused on him, and tended to assume the worst of everyone from the start.

(He said it saved time, but she had always suspected the real reason had more to do with his own life experiences. Expect nothing, regret nothing.)

But he was also hiding so much that was good and decent and warm and… appealing. Dear God, last night he'd just about killed her with his kindness to Iris.

Over the years she'd observed how Juliet O'Hara's gentle nature wore away at his edges, softened his jagged views, and turned him into someone more open-minded, more willing to compromise.

She remembered the day he'd fobbed flowers and elderly candy off on her prior to his dinner date with Victoria—the light in his vivid blue eyes, his entire demeanor one of optimism and conviction—and even though she'd known instinctively Victoria would break his heart, she would never forget how hope _transformed_ him.

It would be wonderful to see him look that way again.

It would be wonderful to be the reason he had hope.

Karen sighed, feeling ridiculous. Bad enough to be reacting like a high-school girl; now she'd asked him to spend part of the afternoon with her?

_What the hell. Is wrong. With you?_

Never mind last night's bravado; this was the real world. The daylight hours. The actual man. The actual living breathing blue-eyed lean and graceful man who hid behind so much scar tissue that maybe an ordinary woman couldn't get through it.

And what was she going to do anyway? Ask him out? He'd freak. Their professional relationship would be foremost in his mind. He'd simply freak.

Karen closed her laptop forcefully and got up. It was early for lunch but she needed a big damn break.

Nearly to her car, and slipping on her sunglasses, she felt instant dread when she heard the voice—_that_ voice—call her name.

"Chief! Chief Vick! Chief Karen Vick!"

"Any one of them would suffice," she muttered, and turned to face Shawn Spencer. "Yes, Mr. Spencer?"

"Chief," he said, in as conciliatory a tone as he ever used, generally reserved for when he knew he was in serious trouble even though he never really understood how serious it was. "I guess you didn't get my messages."

"Oh, I got them. All twelve, plus the messages relayed through McNab, Allen, Miller and Lassiter."

Shawn paused, obviously waiting for her to add something about how she'd lost her phone or had been too busy or some other lie. But she had no lie.

"Okay then." He paused again, as if she might still jump in. "Well. I wanted to talk to you about the message _you_ sent through my father."

"The message went through my consultant liaison, in point of fact. Your blood relationship is irrelevant now."

"Now," he repeated. "It wasn't when you hired him."

"No, it wasn't. But I was younger then, Mr. Spencer. More naïve. More trusting that _some_ people could learn to behave maturely and professionally. To cooperate. Act like adults. Work as part of a team and not a—"

Shawn held up a hand. "Understood. Chief. Listen, I don't know what really set off that warning but if it's about Lassiter, I need to you know I—"

"Of course it's about Lassiter," she shot back. "But it's also about over six years of chaos, and when I'm _ready_ to talk to you about it, I will."

He had the nerve to put his hand on her car door when she reached for the handle. "Chief, please. Whatever you're thinking about, keep in mind all the work we've done together."

_Oh, you slay me_, she thought. "You mean the cases we've helped you with?"

He gave her a magnanimous smile. "I, um, think you got that backwards, Chief. You mean the cases I've helped _you_ with."

Karen gave him her broadest, most innocent smile right back. "No, I said what I meant. Psych _has_ helped us with cases from time to time. But really, when you get right down to it, we help you. Without the police to prove your so-called visions, to make them solid enough to hold up in court, you'd pretty much just be another crackpot wandering the city throwing out crazy-ass ideas to whoever will listen."

His mouth hung open slightly.

"If it weren't for _us_, Mr. Spencer, the ones you overlook in your media statements, the ones you undercut in the field, the ones you disrespect in the station, I'm pretty sure you'd be on your seventieth or eightieth job by now." With force, she yanked open her car door, and he took a step back. "What is that, a twenty-page resume?" One more brilliant and utterly fake smile, and she was in her car, a Spencer-free cone of silence.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter had to pick up a birthday card for his sister, so after prepping for the stats he'd need for the planning committee meeting, he headed out to get a quick lunch and see what he could find at the little gift store close to the diner.

There were five or six customers inside, perusing aisles of cards and knickknacks, and he finally spotted the birthday cards just as a woman with her head down came around the corner of the aisle and nearly crashed into him.

He automatically grabbed her arm to steady her, and found himself looking into Karen's startled but pleased brown eyes.

"This is the most I've seen you outside of work in a long time," she said, "and by the way, pardon me for nearly knocking you down."

Lassiter stared at her.

_You do have a voice, remember?_

"Uh, forget about it, and is that a problem?"

_What?_

Karen laughed. "No, it's no problem at all. You made quite a nice impression on Iris last night."

"She's… she's a pretty little girl," he managed. "You must be proud."

"I am." For a moment she looked at him the way he was afraid he was looking at her, but that was good, right? Wasn't it good that she might be looking at him the way he was afraid he was looking at her?

"Everybody down! NOW!"

Lassiter's hand went to his weapon at once—and Karen's to hers—and he peered around the end of the aisle, Karen pressing up behind him to see for herself.

"DOWN!" the voice roared again.

"Who the hell robs a card shop?" Lassiter asked in consternation.

The yelling man, who was pointing a very large gun at the trembling young woman behind the cash register, backed up enough to get the front door locked. Lassiter had seen him elsewhere in the store, so he assumed the guy already knew how many people were there and where the back exit was.

He was in his mid-thirties, pale and sweaty, in jeans and a Simpson tee. Crazy-ish curly brown hair, no scars, no—Lassiter stopped his mental inventory. "He's not a pro," he whispered to Karen.

"I agree. This is personal. Look how the cashier is reacting."

As if to support this, the girl cried out, "Robbie, please! Please just leave and I promise I won't call the cops. Don't hurt anyone, Robbie, please don't—"

He shot at the register with a relatively steady hand; the girl shrieked as plastic and sparks flew, and the two customers who weren't already on the floor got down fast.

"I'm not leaving, Stevie girl. I'm not leaving until we work this out!" He spun around, checking the small store quickly. "Now, I see five people on the floor but there were seven in here, so—you!" he yelled at Lassiter and Karen. "You two get out here and get down or I'll shoot you both in the ass!"

"He'd make us turn around? Sheesh," Lassiter muttered. "Let's just take him out. You ready?"

"Over here, NOW!" Robbie bellowed, and shot into the gift table next to a middle-aged redhead cowering there.

"Go," Karen whispered, "but be careful. He's unstable."

"SBPD! Freeze!" Lassiter trained his Colt unerringly on Robbie, with Karen at his side just as steely, and he knew without looking that her hand was as steady as his.

Robbie stared at them in disdain, shot the redhead in the leg and jumped around behind the counter to grab Stevie by the neck.

"Yeah?" he yelled. "I don't think so!"

Stevie was screaming, the redhead was screaming, Lassiter was cursing, and Karen sighed.

"I don't think we're going to make that planning meeting," she remarked.

"Good," he muttered. "I hate meetings."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Robbie had imposed his brand of order. He kept shooting into the walls and ceiling, over the moans of the redhead and the pleadings of Stevie until there was no choice but for Karen and Carlton to give up their weapons and phones. He dragged Stevie out from behind the counter so he could see everyone, and allowed Karen to check on the redhead's leg.

She was worried about Carlton; the set to his jaw was beyond stone and his eyes were ablaze with resolve… anger… and frustration. This was the kind of situation every cop hated but Carlton possibly more than others. He was more than capable of taking Robbie out quickly and efficiently, but civilians always came first, and no matter how he claimed not to like people, it would kill him if he couldn't protect them. All of them.

The redhead—Esme—would be all right. Karen wrapped her leg with bandages from the first aid kit behind the counter and convinced Robbie to let her give Esme some Tylenol, because it couldn't hurt.

He ordered her back to sit beside Carlton on the floor in front of the Get Well cards. Oh, irony.

"Now what we're gonna do here, you see, is figure out how to get Stevie to take me back." He said it with conviction, absolutely unaware that his present activities weren't being checked off in the "Advantages To Dating Robbie" column.

"Robbie," she sobbed. "It's just over, that's all. I still love you, but I can't be with you!"

"Well does _that_ make any damn sense?"

_Yeah_, Karen thought, _even if you weren't crazy_, _and I have the divorce papers to prove it._

"Robbie…"

He shot out one of the light fixtures, and glass showered down on them all when one of the fluorescents blew.

"You love me… but you can't be with me? Baby, I'm the best thing that ever happened to you, just like you're the best thing that ever happened to me!"

"Son of a crap-carrying whackaloon," Carlton growled sotto voce.

Robbie's crazy-gaze fixed on them, and Karen leaned against Carlton both to warn and, she hoped, calm him. "You. Cops. Stop talking."

"What's the plan, Robbie?" Carlton asked without emphasis. "You have eight hostages. What's the plan if Stevie doesn't take you back?"

Robbie glared at him, breathing hard. "Everybody dies. You first." Then he laughed. "No, her first," and he pointed the gun at Karen.

Karen felt Carlton's entire body stiffen, and that got her attention more than the gun aimed at her head. His nearness, his tension on her behalf, and her daughter: the three elements in her head that weren't focused on Robbie and his damned gun.

"I recognize her," said a man in a business suit near Esme. "She's the Chief of Police. You can't kill the Chief of Police."

Robbie just went on laughing. "What do I care? If I gotta kill _her_, I'll be dead along with the rest of you. What's the diff?"

"Okay, Robbie, okay! I'll take you back! I swear! Just don't hurt anyone else, _please_!"

Someone in the room made a noise of disbelief.

Crap, Karen thought, and felt Carlton tensing anew beside her; she was as aware of their proximity as that Robbie had also heard the dissent and Did. Not. Like It.

"What's that?" he crooned, waving the gun slowly, almost hypnotically. "Someone thinks my little Stevie doesn't mean it?"

Silence.

"Someone thinks my little Stevie is LYING?" he roared, and fired two more rounds into the card aisle, scattering paper and envelopes in a large *_poof_* of confetti.

"I'm not lying," she promised after everyone settled down again. She brushed tears off her face, sniffling. "I… if you'll get therapy, I'll take you back. I swear, Robbie. I swear."

He aimed his gun at Karen again but settled his attention on Stevie. "Therapy?"

"I still love you, sweetie. You just need to… to talk to someone about things, you know? A therapist. Someone who can help us understand why you're so angry all the time."

The silence, apart from Stevie's murmurings, was profound.

"Robbie…" She tugged at his tee.

More silence.

Silence into which Carlton said very slowly, "I've had therapy."

Karen looked at him, surprised and… moved. Warmed, even.

"You? Big tough cop?" Robbie sneered.

"Our job is hard," Karen retorted. "_No one_ is too tough to benefit from talking to someone now and then."

"Robbie, you see?" Stevie was hopeful. "See?"

"What'd they tell you?" Robbie demanded of Carlton. "What was your problem?"

Carlton hesitated only a moment. "Same as yours. Anger."

Robbie stared, suspicious.

"Resentment. Feeling like the world was against me. Wondering why my marriage went belly-up."

The room was utterly still at that.

Karen could feel his tension again, but his tone was level and he didn't stop, even though every eye was focused on him.

"Therapy helped me understand some things about myself, Robbie. God knows I could use a hell of a lot more." He glanced at Karen, the blue of his eyes muted with… probably uncertainty as to what he was saying out loud to these strangers, let alone her.

But he didn't ever need to be embarrassed about saying anything to _her_. As Carlton returned his attention to Robbie, Karen simply reached over and took his hand.

He gripped hers firmly, but kept talking to Robbie. "It's hard to get started because you think they've never heard anything like what _you_ have to say, and you think they're going to tell you you're some special kind of crazy. But they've heard it all before. And they _can_ help."

Robbie swallowed, pointing the gun at the ceiling again. "They got therapists in jail? Because I'm not stupid. If I don't kill you all, that's where I'm going for sure."

"They do," Carlton assured him.

His hand was so warm, his long fingers so right interlinked with hers. Karen let out a breath, marveling at his utter calm now. She had no doubt that if he had a clear opportunity, he'd be on his feet and in Robbie's face in less time than it would take to say "Prozac," but in this moment, he was focused only on defusing the situation and getting them all out alive.

"Hell," Robbie said disgustedly.

"Robbie, please. Please," begged Stevie.

Esme cleared her throat. "My… my therapist does some work for the county jail."

Carlton's hand tightened around Karen's and she saw the tiniest, most miniscule hint of a smile curving his mouth.

There was nothing for it; Robbie laughed the laugh of a person who was either backing away from the edge or inching closer just for the thrill of it.

He wiped sweat off his forehead with his gun hand, and sighed heavily. "Stevie, baby, you know I love you. And I've never laid a hand on you, have I. I never would. I don't go that way, baby." He gave Esme a cursory nod. "Sorry about your leg, lady. I was… kind of in the zone."

Esme nodded politely. "I… uh, I could really use a doctor. If you don't mind."

"Yeah, in a minute. Stevie. Tell me the truth, in front of all these people. You can't lie to everyone here. God doesn't like that kind of thing if you're not in politics. Are you really going to take me back if I get therapy while I'm in jail?"

Her eyes were huge and _there was no way_.

Carlton, still quiet, said, "You can't ask her that."

The gun was immediately pointed straight at him. "Come again, cop?"

"You can ask her if she'll think about it. You can ask her if she'll try. But you can't ask her to make a promise like that, Robbie. I don't know what you did to make her leave you, but for damn sure too much has happened in the last half hour for you to be asking for promises about _anything_."

Robbie's pale blue and Carlton's deeper, more intense blue eyes locked, and Karen held on to his hand as if she could funnel through all her strength to meld with his.

Stevie sniffled. "I will, Robbie. I _will_ think about it and I _will_ try, if you get therapy. Please… please let everyone go home." She reached and touched his face. "I do love you. I swear I do."

"That's more than most people get," said Carlton evenly.

Robbie put the gun down.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

After everyone was out, after Robbie was handcuffed and led away and Esme was taken off by the EMTs, after the bullets and casings were collected, after statements were taken and phones returned and guns put back in holsters and Karen had assured O'Hara and McNab and everyone else that they were fine and Carlton had saved the day without either his fists or a weapon, she tugged on his sleeve and pulled him into the storeroom, filled with Mylar balloons and ribbons and boxes of stationery and fragrant candles, and stood on her tiptoes and cupped his warm tired face and kissed him.

Without any hesitation, Carlton kissed her back with a sigh of Titanic proportions, his arms tight around her, his hands in her hair and his mouth so sensual as it fit to hers perfectly.

There wasn't time for more, not then.

But now she knew they had time for everything later.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	4. Chapter 4: The Cat's Opinion

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE CAT'S OPINION**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Friday dawned crisp and cool, with the sun bright and the world awash in the colors of spring, but Lassiter did _not_ understand how.

By all rights, he should have been dead from cardiac arrest or possibly a lightning strike.

He had kissed Karen… his boss… the _Chief of Police_.

Yes, she had initiated it, but he had prolonged it.

Maybe prolonged was the wrong word. She hadn't exactly been pushing him away. They'd kissed long enough in the storeroom for him to have full knowledge of her lips and tongue and teeth and the silky feel of her hair and the utter sensuousness of her body pressed to his and her fingers in his hair and…

Yeah, that… that was mutual.

Running through quiet neighborhoods, not even remotely thinking about crime, Lassiter replayed Thursday afternoon.

They separated, staring at each other—and he didn't know what she was thinking, but she smiled—and she said softly, "Back to work for us."

He had nodded and moved at once to open the door, following her out. They took their separate cars back to work and she was immediately swarmed by phone calls and other Chiefly matters and although he was sure she glanced his way through her blinds more than once, there was simply no time to talk.

Or kiss.

Which would have been very good.

"But insane!" he said out loud, and a grey cat in the yard he was passing mewled at him in response.

He stopped short, catching his breath. How would this affect her decision regarding his ultimatum? She'd said she wouldn't accept his resignation, but had kissing him just confused the issue even more? What if her decision was now influenced by what happened in the storeroom?

The cat padded up to him, sniffing his ankles. Lassiter sighed. "Fine. No more kissing until she's decided."

Sitting back on its haunches, the cat tilted its head a little and stared at him intently.

"I know. Like it's even _my_ call."

The cat licked its front paw. Lassiter didn't mind cats. He liked that they radiated intelligence, which he always respected. He reached down to pet her, and the cat purred, warm and soft under his hand.

"Pretend you're a bartender, kitty. Tell me what to do." He crouched down and reached for her collar. "Got a name?"

The cat purred while he inspected the tag, and he grinned, because it read "Boss."

"Always do what your boss says," he murmured, gave Boss one last pet, and resumed his run in a rather more optimistic frame of mind, because he knew this: Karen would let him know.

About the job, about the kiss, whether good or bad: she would let him know.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen felt like a coward. She'd kissed Carlton and then let work inundate her when they got back, and then she'd been Iris' mom all evening, and she hadn't so much as sent him a text. He had to be going crazy.

_She_ was.

But there was this other matter to resolve: the Spencer problem.

When she got to the station lot, Buzz McNab and Juliet O'Hara were standing on the steps, arms folded, gazing off to the left, and she followed their visual path with a sense of unease.

Shawn Spencer was standing about fifty feet away holding a placard which said "I Can Help Solve The Prk Mudr Cse." The last three words were squeezed in. Bad sign planning.

Near him, terribly embarrassed, Gus held up a smaller sign reading "For Real."

Karen sighed and approached her officers. "How long has he been there?"

"About ten minutes." Juliet was frowning. "It's odd for him to be awake this early."

"Might explain the crappiness of the sign." She moved around them, toward the door.

"Chief? You want us to do anything about them?" Buzz was uncomfortable, clearly hoping she'd say no.

Karen looked back at the Psych guys. "They're not disturbing the peace or obstructing traffic, so no. O'Hara, my office please?"

As Juliet followed her down the hall, she said, "Chief, I haven't discussed the case with Shawn at all, and if he has any insight, I really don't know what it is."

Waiting until they were in the office—door closed, as it so often needed to be closed—Karen put her purse down on the desk and gestured for Juliet to sit before she launched in.

"Given your personal relationship with Mr. Spencer, it would be reasonable for someone to think you might be… biased when questioned about him. But I'm going to take a chance on you, O'Hara, and assume that because this is about _Carlton's_ future, you'll be scrupulously honest with me."

Juliet was already still and a little pale. "Yes, ma'am, you know I will."

Karen settled into her chair, wishing she'd stopped for coffee. "In your professional opinion, is it possible we could have solved a significant number of Psych cases without their help? If not as quickly?"

The young woman looked at her blankly for a moment, but only a moment. "Yes. It is."

"Because the information was there, and he just got to it first."

"Yes."

"Whether through 'the spirits,' or…" She trailed off, curious to see if Juliet would follow.

With a sigh, she did. "Or methods we don't want to know about. Yes. It's possible. There have been cases we could have solved with more time, more resources, or less regard for the details." She fidgeted a bit in her chair. "I know because generally, after what he calls his 'big reveal,' we have to build the case up to satisfy the D.A., which means we have to find the factual basis for Shawn's… visions. And it's almost always there." She cleared her throat.

Karen nodded. "Thank you. That's what I thought. Don't misunderstand; there are times when solving a case as quickly as possible is paramount, because of either public pressure or mayoral pressure. But we've paid Psych a good amount of money over the years and it'd be a shame to think it was wasted. Or that it would be wasted in future, while Shawn stomps all over our protocols as well as common courtesy."

Juliet nodded.

"Do you think he's psychic?" She hadn't intended to ask, but lately Juliet showed signs of a more sane outlook on Spencer.

She let out a little sigh. "It's complicated. I want to believe it because there've been so many times he's known things he couldn't possibly know, and because I think we should always leave the door open, right? The world is complicated and the human mind is barely understood and the line between tangible and intangible is really thin sometimes. Does that make sense?"

_It means you doubt_, Karen thought. _And you don't want him to have been lying to you all this time._

"Yes, it does. And obviously, it behooves us all for him to actually be psychic, given the legal implosion we'd be up against if it came to light he was a fraud. Which is why," she added flatly, "it is crucial that you and Carlton _continue_ finding the factual basis for his insights. Facts don't lie, usually, and a solid case is far less likely to be overturned even if its initial closure did come from Shawn Spencer saying he saw the clue in his morning churro."

Juliet smiled faintly.

"I asked you this because I'm still trying to make my decision, and one of the options I _have_ to consider is ending our relationship with Psych. I hope you understand that."

"I do." She hesitated a moment, then went on with conviction. "Chief… I want you to know. My personal relationship with Shawn is not my priority when I step inside these doors. Doing my job, with Carlton as my partner—that's my priority. Maybe it hasn't seemed that way for a while, but… I'm back." She smiled, a bit tremulously. "Thank you for what you said to me on Monday. I always thought Carlton would snap at me that he could stand up for himself, but you were right: I should have stood up for him—_with_ him—anyway, and sooner. Years ago, really."

Karen smiled. "Welcome home, O'Hara."

Juliet rose. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Just my coffee. Oh, and go ahead and ask Shawn what his damn clue is. Better yet, send Dobson out to do it."

"Yes, ma'am."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"He says he'll only give the clue to you, me, or O'Hara."

Lassiter kept his tone neutral. He was six feet away from his lovely, brown-eyed supervisor, whose mouth had felt so damn good on his, and this was the first time they'd been face-to-face this morning.

Karen, whatever she was thinking, was not about to bring any of _that_ up: Juliet flanked him and Dobson hovered in the doorway.

"Excuse me?"

Dobson spoke. "That's what he said. I came in and told Lassiter."

"Thank you, Dobson. Please ask Mr. Spencer to come as far as the bottom of the steps and I'll be with him in a minute."

Lassiter frowned but bit back a 'what the hell?'—Karen had always been more open-minded to Spencer than he had, and hadn't he _just_ had a conversation with the cat about listening to the boss?

Juliet turned to go out the door but he glanced at Karen before he followed. Her dark gaze was on him, and in that moment, she smiled, and he flushed with… dammit, _hope_.

But business first, and damn that too.

Karen led the way around the corner past Booking to the main entrance, and they stood beside her at the top of the steps.

He may have been standing too close, because he could smell her light perfume, and he liked it.

He should really step back.

_Hmmm... don't think so._

Spencer and Guster were at the bottom, as instructed, signs still up. Dobson was nearby, rolling his eyes. "Chief, good morning. Detectives O'Hara and Lassiter, always a pleasure."

"I'm sure," Karen said mildly. "What's all this about a Pork Mudder Kiss?"

Juliet snickered discreetly; Lassiter glanced at Karen, noting the gleam in her eyes, and allowed himself the smallest smile.

"Park. Murder. Case," Spencer elaborated. "Gus couldn't get the sign right."

"Liar!" Gus protested. "I _told_ you to put more words on the top line."

"And you have information about this case?" Karen asked politely.

"Yes, Chief, I do. I believe my last vision is akin to a giant arrow leading toward a solution."

"Uh-huh. And you couldn't call it in?"

Spencer protested, "No one will _take_ my calls!"

Karen turned to Juliet and Lassiter. "Did he try to contact you about this case? Leave any messages, send a text?"After their negative responses, she faced Spencer again. "Did you try the main station number, or the non-emergency number? The tip line? Henry? _Buzz_?"

Spencer dropped the sign at his feet and looked sulky.

"And when I sent a police officer—Detective Dobson, right there, you know him—right up to your face to ask what your information was, did you give it to him?"

He sighed. "Chief, I wanted you to have it personally."

"But it won't be me out in the field working the case, Mr. Spencer. It'll be Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara. The information is best delivered to them, don't you agree?"

He crossed his arms, his stance still sulky.

Lassiter was loving this. Loving it with every admittedly uncharitable bone in his body, and when he stole a look at Juliet, she seemed to be on the same page, and hell, she was _dating_ the guy.

Karen gave Spencer a few more seconds of silence. "So we understand each other, then. You admit to withholding information which could potentially solve a double homicide in a public family park." She looked up at Lassiter, her brown eyes bright. "Does that sound like obstruction of justice to you, Detective?"

"Yes, Chief," he said, and reached for his handcuffs.

"Chief, wait! Just… wait." Spencer put his hand up to his forehead in his usual schticky style. "The spirits are advising me to tell you immediately what they know."

_And they said Einstein was dead._

Long dramatic pause, head down. Gus elbowed him to get things going again.

"There was no gunshot residue on either victim."

Karen sighed. "You got Woody to talk to you?"

"No! Chief, this comes straight from the spirits."

"Lassiter, let's have a chat with Woody later about the unauthorized release of case information to the public."

"I'll set it up," he said with great satisfaction.

"I'm not the public!" Spencer exclaimed. "And that's not all. The third person, the shooter, didn't even know the guy he shot."

"Interesting. Can you prove it?"

"Well… that's kind of your job, isn't it?"

"We need something more to go on, I think." She was so smooth. Lassiter would have hugged her if he thought he'd be able to let go of her after.

_Stay on point, moron_. "So basically you just opened the suspect field up to include everyone else in the city, instead of only the people they actually know. Good work, Spencer."

Spencer glared at him. "He's a regular in the park."

Gus was nodding.

"I'm listening," Karen said, apparently made of patience.

Lassiter had always admired her ability to seem cool and collected in any situation, and not for the first time he thought she was a damn sight better Chief than he would have been. If he'd replaced Chief Fenich, half of Santa Barbara would be in jail on any given day depending on the severity of his bad moods.

"Remember the little bit of green paper the knifed guy had in his pocket? Did you identify that?"

"Some kind of club emblem," Juliet said. "We're still tracing it."

"That guy and the shooter are in the same club, and the club has something to do with the park, and Chief? Is this how it's always going to be? You at the top there, and me at the bottom?"

Lassiter grinned as Karen laughed. "I'm sure you're only referring to these steps, Mr. Spencer, but yes, in a manner of speaking, that's correct. I _will_ always be at the top. Now, thank you for the information; if we need more, we'll be in touch, and if it pans out, Psych _will_ be reimbursed accordingly." Turning without another word, she strode inside.

Juliet waved cheerily at the guys, and Lassiter followed her back into the station.

Karen was waiting at Booking. "Bring me up to speed on this case."

They led her into the conference room, where much of the case file was laid out. The victims had been identified as Nalley and Specht, both in their late fifties. Specht was a known chess enthusiast and was part of a group of park players; he was retired from the post office and was known to be at least acquainted with Nalley, who was on disability from an injury his construction job. Specht had been knifed, and Nalley shot. Specht was the one with the bit of green paper in his pocket.

Prints on the knife matched Nalley's, suggesting he'd killed Specht before being shot by an unknown third party.

"We assumed they all knew each other," Juliet said, "but if the club is what links them, we can concentrate on the ones which meet in the park."

"Specht and Nalley argue, Nalley knifes him, third guy shoots Nalley in retaliation or to stop the knifing and then flees."

"Works for me," Karen said, studying the bulletin board and the photos of the victims at the scene. "Big park. No witnesses, right?"

"The bodies were discovered behind the gazebo, and Woody put the time of death at two a.m. or thereabouts. The jogging paths don't run near the gazebo, so they weren't spotted until a groundskeeper was in the area."

"Thank you, Carlton."

Miller stuck his head in the door to say Juliet had a call, and she hurried out to her desk.

Karen considered the open door for a moment, and walked away from Lassiter to the far window, indicating he should follow. "I… I thought you should know I'm putting in for a commendation for you."

"For _what_?"

She was amused. "Remember yesterday? Little incident in the card shop?"

He frowned. "But I didn't do anything special."

"No? Eight hostages, crazy guy with gun, everyone went home alive?"

"Karen," he protested. "I didn't _do_ anything. I just sat on the floor and flapped my gums."

Now she laughed. "Really?"

"Well, what the hell's heroic about that?"

She got serious fast, and her eyes… _God, her eyes were mesmerizing_, so dark and warm. "Sitting on the floor and flapping your gums, Carlton, you managed to convince an unstable man who'd already shot one woman to lay down his weapon and let everyone go. You don't think that's heroic?"

He felt her intensity, and maybe they were standing too close to each other but he'd be damned if he could move. "I just got lucky," he muttered.

"No. No, Carlton. You… you revealed something of yourself to connect with this man. You took a chance you hardly ever take and showed yourself. Your feelings. Without a gun, without fists, you got eight people home to their families. You got _me_ home to Iris," she almost whispered. "_I_ consider that pretty damned heroic, and _that's_ why you deserve the commendation."

He was touched, and vaguely shamed, and yet the idea of her feeling so passionately about this washed over him like the gentlest of sea breezes, and his heart was beating a bit crazily.

"Of course I probably won't word it quite that way in the recommendation," she amended with a slight smile. "I see no need for any official record of your comments to Robbie."

It should have calmed him, but he wouldn't be Carlton Lassiter without self-doubt and paranoia. "Doesn't matter. I expect my babbling will be in the paper anyway when they talk to the hostages."

Karen smiled gently. "Actually no. I read all the articles this morning. Not one of the other hostages said anything other than that you talked Robbie down."

"They'll say how eventually. You know reporters dig, and then they twist, and then—"

"Carlton," she said with a sigh, and put her hand on his arm. "I don't think so. Those of us in the shop yesterday all understood that what you said was personal and private, and being in that situation, we all respect what you did. The chance you took. What they told the reporters was, over and over again, 'Detective Lassiter talked the man down. He saved our lives, and we thank him.' We _all_ thank you." Her hand moved slightly, as if she were soothing him, and it _was_ soothing, except that it wasn't soothing at all to feel the heat of her hand through his sleeve.

And damn it all, he wouldn't be Carlton Lassiter without self-doubt and paranoia.

"Is that why you kissed me?" he asked, his voice low.

Those deep brown eyes widened.

"Because you were thanking me?"

"No," she said at once.

He tilted his head. She'd sounded… surprised. "Because you didn't have to do that. You didn't have to—"

Without even glancing toward the door, she leaned in closer and said with quiet force, "I kissed you because I wanted to. Yes, I thank you for what you did but I kissed you because I _wanted_ to. Because… dammit, Carlton, I'm attracted to you, and it seemed like the only thing that mattered right then. And Iris is going to a sleepover tonight and I was hoping you'd come over and have dinner with me."

The last sentence came out in a rush and Lassiter was stunned by the whole of it. "Oh," he managed.

Karen now looked at the door, but no one had passed, and no one was standing there agog except him. "So?" She was breathless now, and her hand on his arm wasn't moving at all, only grasping it more firmly.

Like he might run, or she might fall.

He wasn't running.

But there was one other problem. "Is this a good idea? I mean, before you make your decision about my ultimatum?"

One perfect brow arched, and a smile brought the sun out again. "You're questioning my ability to make the best possible decision for the good of the department, the city and my individual employees?"

"Like hell I am," he shot back, but there was no heat in it, and she smiled again, melting his… everything. Just everything.

"So dinner?" she prompted. "Or did I imagine you kissing me back yesterday?"

Lassiter studied her face, her eyes, her smile. "Just tell me what time to be there."

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	5. Chapter 5: This Is Really Happening

**CHAPTER FIVE: THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

After sending Iris off to her sleepover at Ally's house (Lissa would be there, but Karen had made it clear to Ally's mother that any secret watching of horror movies would result in a late night phone call to let _her_ listen to Iris shrieking from her nightmares), Karen changed into a light green cotton dress, something which made her feel cool and pretty.

The dinner she had planned for Carlton was simple, because she was a little too jazzed for anything complicated: salad, grilled fish, vegetables. The wine was chilling, and the fruit and cream dessert was in the fridge along with it, and round about the time she was pulling the wine glasses from the cupboard, she had a thought.

A Bad Thought.

A Bad Thought which made her set the glasses down very carefully because her hands began shaking.

Stunned by this bad thought, she paced the kitchen and the hall and round again, over and over until the doorbell rang, and she flew to the door and yanked it open and stared at Carlton.

… who looked damned good—blue shirt open at the neck, no tie, tantalizing glimpse of his chest, his blue, blue, damnably blue eyes utterly mesmerizing—but that was irrelevant.

"Carlton." She sounded urgent. She was urgent.

His eyebrows furrowed, and he said at once, "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. No. Yes—no, nothing's wrong." She gripped the door with one hand, helpless against the Bad Thought.

Carlton began to look uncomfortable. "Do you want me to leave?"

He thought she'd changed her mind.

"God, no," she breathed. "But. But I have to ask you."

"Ask me what? Karen, what _is_ it?"

The thing was, see, The Bad Thought. It had popped into her head so easily: all these imaginings she was having about him?

What had he done to encourage her apart from kissing her back yesterday and letting her hold his hand? How did she even know whether he felt real interest in her? _Men kiss women all the time. Men especially kiss women who throw themselves at them, at least initially, and Carlton's stronger than most men_.

"Karen," he said again, concerned and now clearly even more uncomfortable.

"Are you here because I'm the Chief?"

His frown deepened. "What?"

"Are you here because you think I expect you to be here because I'm the Chief? Your boss? Or because you're afraid I might be taking advantage of you, because of your ultimatum?" She was speaking too rapidly, and this was not like her; she was the one who never lost her head. She was the one who stood up under pressure and made the hard decisions and Didn't. Freak. Out.

But standing in front of this blue-eyed man, three-quarters panicked and barefoot because she couldn't remember where she'd left her shoes before The Bad Thought, she was just a girl. A shaking girl who was terrified the boy in front of her wasn't there of his own free will. That he might have accepted the invite—or even her kiss—because he thought it was somehow _expected_ of him.

Because he'd said nothing. He'd done nothing. He'd smiled at her and made her go melty and he'd been nice to Iris and he'd let her hold his hand and he'd kissed her back but… but…

"May I come in?" he asked carefully.

Embarrassed anew because there she was clutching the door and probably wild-eyed, she backed up abruptly and stood helpless while he came in and closed the door behind him.

He smelled good and his hair looked so touchable and as unreasonably terrified as she was, she wanted desperately to caress the skin of his throat and jaw and slide her fingers into that soft hair, and she was thinking this when he stepped forward, put his warm hands to her waist, and kissed her.

And kissed her hard.

Karen went boneless, her arms around his neck for dear life as his hot mouth plundered hers, as intently as yesterday in the fragrant storeroom, more delicious and sweet and real than she could ever have dreamed.

His breath on her cheek was warm and his arms tightened around her. "No. I am not here because you're the Chief of Police."

She tilted her head up, sagging with relief, and he held her firm, his frown gone and his eyes a deep shade of blue which spoke of desire, desire she could feel between them, as closely as they were wrapped together.

"Thank God," she whispered, and pressed her mouth to his again, her tongue seeking more, and more was what she got.

Oh, he could kiss, the man was a most excellent kisser, quite possibly the best—no, definitely the best—kisser of her life, including her ex-husband and her first boyfriend, both of whom had been pretty darn good, and in the back of her overwhelmed brain was the thought _because this is the man you were meant to kiss all along_… and that was a crazy thought, born entirely of this moment's passion.

Right?

He withdrew gradually, slowing the pace, his ragged breathing an incredible turn-on, more than she would ever be able to make him understand. "Karen," he managed, cupping her face. "Karen. What made you think I wasn't here by choice?"

She pressed her forehead to his chest, sighing. "I just realized… it's stupid… I've been coming on to you the last few days, but I realized maybe you really hadn't given me any signals of your own. Maybe you were just going along. I never really thought of myself as the cougar type but what if it seemed that way to you?"

His laughter was a wonderful vibration against her body. "I think I'd have to be about twenty years younger for you to be classed a cougar. Not that you wouldn't make an _excellent _cougar," he added in a bit of a growl, and Karen looked up at him, awash in fresh arousal from that alone.

"I kissed you. I know you didn't see it coming. I... you must have thought I was—"

Carlton silenced her with another kiss, intense and bone-melting, and murmured against her lips, "I thought you were a beautiful woman I've always admired, giving me a green light that for damn sure I didn't deserve."

Karen relaxed, but squeezed him hard. "You deserve so much more than you think you do."

He didn't believe her, but he smiled, which made him ten times more attractive than she already thought he was.

"Like dinner," she said with another squeeze. "After a hard week."

He let her go reluctantly—that reluctance making her want him even more—and followed her into the kitchen, and shortly, with minimum fuss, they were dining on her back patio, the sunset coloring the sky with orange and pink beyond the tall trees which framed her property.

It might have been the wine but he was surprisingly relaxed; on the other hand, she was a hell of a lot more relaxed now herself since the massive make-out session in the foyer.

He asked her about Iris and her sister, didn't mention her ex and said not one word about work.

_She_ asked him about her sister, too, over the fruit and cream. "I heard you were interested in Barbara, you know."

Carlton's eyebrows went up. "It passed."

"And I know she was interested in _you_." She tried not to smirk.

"That _also_ passed. _I_ heard," he countered, "that you two had a shouting match over me."

Karen started laughing. "We did! She thought I was warning her off you because I wanted you for myself."

"But that wasn't true then." He sipped his wine. "So you... warned her off for her own good."

Her mouth fell open, because she was trapped. "No..."

Carlton just eyed her. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm the head damn detective of the SBPD."

She sighed. "Well, you were pretty tightly wound back then. _And_ you were still married. And no one, Carlton, _no one_ is ever really ready for my sister."

He just waited, sipping wine, studying her.

"It was a long time ago. Think how much has changed since then," she pointed out carefully. "We both see the world differently now. We see each other differently now. At least I see _you_ differently."

His voice was low. "You're the same."

Karen paused, unsure how to take that.

"You were always in command, able to see the big picture, able to rein _me_ in, and _impossibly_ lovely."

Her heart went twinge-y at that, and she suspected she was blushing.

Carlton smiled. "No offense to your sister, but she's got nothing on you."

She was in danger of melting all over the patio. "Oh," she said, finding it hard to get even that much out.

"What I don't know is why you're interested in me now. It's not because of the ultimatum. I've yelled in your office before." He was wry, all-too-aware of past upsets, most of which were about Shawn.

"It kind of… _is_ because of the ultimatum. You…" Karen sighed. "You kicked the door in." At his puzzled expression, she explained, "The door I thought I had firmly closed against getting involved with anyone at work, ever. You were so intense, Carlton, and so on point, and you stripped away all the crap we've been putting up with—and putting you through—and made me see everything. Shawn, Guster, O'Hara… you. The very second you made it clear you were ready to walk? Was the exact second I knew I couldn't let you do that. Professionally or otherwise."

In one smooth motion, he got out of his chair and crossed to hers, holding out his hand for her to rise and step into his arms.

But he didn't kiss her. He circled her waist and looked into her eyes, his ocean blue gaze unrelenting. "I don't want to leave my position. But I don't know how you're going to make it possible for me to stay. And none of that matters right now. I don't know what I'm doing and you might possibly have lost your mind, but I'm here tonight by choice, because you asked me. Because you wanted me here. Because… you… ah, hell, Karen," he sighed, and kissed her then.

Karen wound around him with utter contentment and deep need, and the feel of his lean hard body against hers—damn the barrier of clothing—was something she'd been longing for. For far too long, whether her conscious mind wanted to admit it or not.

His hands slid down to her rear and pulled her even tighter to him, and she felt exactly how much the desire was mutual.

_This is happening_, she thought, nipping at his lips and tongue. _This is happening_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It didn't happen.

Lassiter sat in a bar—he'd pulled in on impulse on the way home, because he hoped he would stop at one drink that way—and nursed a large Scotch, replaying every moment of every touch, press, kiss, sigh.

God, she was beautiful. Those eyes, those beautiful beautiful warm brown eyes—she skewered him, she missed nothing, she invited all…

They kissed on the patio, still standing, until he stumbled back and jarred the table, which broke the spell enough to remind them to clear the dishes, and he was okay with that. A little breathing room so maybe he wouldn't tear her clothes off and have at her the way he wanted—the way he now understood _she_ wanted—was a good thing, right?

But then the cleanup was done.

And they stared at each other in her kitchen, and she breathlessly offered him coffee and he asked her if she was out of her mind, and she laughed and was back in his arms as if she'd always belonged there.

Perfect. Her mouth was perfect and beautiful and delicious.

He clinked the ice in his glass, shaking his head when the bartender asked if he wanted another.

When the phone on her wall rang his first thought was _go the hell away_ and his second thought was _it's work_ and his third thought was _Iris_, and that was the winner. Ally's mother was calling to say Iris was feeling sick, and there was no question but Karen would go to her.

Nothing serious, Ally's mom assured her, just an upset tummy from too much ice cream, but she was asking for Karen.

Lassiter kissed her forehead and asked if she wanted company on the drive over, but she wisely, and regretfully, said no.

So he was in a bar, and she was with her ailing daughter.

But _interruptus_ wasn't so bad. Hell of a lot of good memories from the evening.

He smiled into his Scotch.

An attractive brunette in a startlingly short black dress slid onto the stool next to his. "You, my good man, are far too handsome to be here alone on a Friday night." She held up her empty glass. "Buy me a drink, blue eyes?"

Lassiter downed the rest of his. "You, my good woman, should have been here _last_ Friday night… when I was still available." He gave her a crooked smile, and went home.

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**. .**

_('Tis very short, I know, but it's a bon voyage present for **someone** who's going off on An Adventure. Plus, this seemed like a pretty darn good stopping point.)_


	6. Chapter 6: Connected

**CHAPTER SIX: CONNECTED**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_**(M ahead)**_

**. . . **

**. . . . **

Lassiter, despite his cocky words to the woman in the bar, did not yet feel confident enough to initiate contact with Karen, feeling he might be intruding on her weekend with Iris.

At the same time, he was aware of her concern that she'd been making all the moves.

_Good thing she can't read minds_, he thought, because some of the moves he wanted to make had the potential to melt the elastic on her underwear.

Which he hoped to see sometime.

_Okay, now you're just a perv. _

Karen cut through all this by calling him mid-morning, and he snatched up the phone once he saw her name on the screen.

"Chief," he said briskly.

She laughed. "Good morning. I hope you don't mind the intrusion."

"Intrusion my ass. Call anytime."

"Ooh, can we talk about your ass?"

Lassiter was instantly turned on and then horrified. "Where's Iris?"

"I took her back over to Ally's this morning for a pancake breakfast and cartoons. I… um… should be free until about noon."

It was nearly ten; he did the math. "I can be there in—"

"No need," she interrupted. "It's entirely possible I'm parked outside your building."

Letting out a breath, trying to get his heart back in his chest, he finally said, "I think you should come a little closer, so I can see you."

"Thought you'd never ask," she said nearly in a purr. "Be right up."

He stood in the doorway, watching her walk down the hall. Jeans, loose tee, honey-gold hair tucked behind her ears, gaze fixed on him, and this was his boss, his supervisor, the ever-lovin' Chief of Police, the woman who held his career in her hands, but the minute she was close enough, he tugged on one of those soft hands and pulled her the rest of the way inside.

"Hi," he breathed, cupping her face. "You're too damn beautiful."

"It's the lust," she teased, and kissed him.

He could handle lust. So could she, the way she was pressing to him.

But.

"I want more than two hours with you," he said, and that was the truth. "We're going to _need_ more time for what I have in mind."

Well, it was 80% true. Five percent was wrapped up in giving her time to make her decision about his job, and the remaining fifteen percent still expected her to change her mind about wanting someone she'd never wanted in seven years, having seen him at his worst so many times.

Karen stilled, her fingers in his hair, her breath warm on his neck. "Iris goes to her father next weekend. But that's a long way off."

His hands had found their way to the delightful curve of her ass, and she undulated against him, causing a loss of oxygen to his brain. "We're adults. And you are _not_ a quickie kind of woman."

She smiled and turned pink. "You're not a quickie kind of guy. Tell me this, though," she murmured, one hand sliding under the collar of his tee, tickling against his upper chest, "do you fool around?"

Lassiter grinned. "Upon request, yes."

"I request. Please." She accentuated the request with a nibble to his earlobe, and Lassiter was done for.

They settled on the sofa, Lassiter telling himself he could resist temptation if they weren't in sight of the bed, but Karen was more practical and straddled his lap. Her kisses were wicked and delicious and he loved the shape and softness of her lips, the persistence of her tongue, the completely female taste of her.

She tugged at his tee, whispering about how nice it would be to have it off, and he couldn't say no, not that he could have talked anyway once her mouth and fingers started exploring his chest. Those beautiful fingers playing across his skin, circling his nipples as her lips nuzzled his throat and collarbone… he put his head back and sighed, letting her just… pet him.

He heard her low laughter. "You're purring," she said, and when he opened his eyes, she pulled off her own tee, exposing her silky white bra and so much of her lovely, lovely smooth skin, skin he could not resist kissing.

They had to go slow, he knew, slow… just explore… he was _not_ going to take this woman on his sofa with one eye on the clock. Not their first time.

He stroked her arms, her abdomen; she shivered and leaned in closer for another long and lusty kiss. Sliding his hands behind her back, he unhooked the bra and helped her out of it.

Karen's brown gaze was solemn, and he held it a long time before giving in and admiring her breasts, caressing the underside of each, gently rubbing each erect nipple, cupping them and sighing over their beauty before he pulled her close and put his mouth to her.

She arched against his tongue, gasping in immediate pleasure, and her movements in his lap made it clear she could well feel the movements in _his_ lap.

Slow, he reminded himself. Slow. Dammit.

She was a woman, an intelligent and sensual woman, an _adult_ woman, here because she wanted him, but she also deserved the best he could give her, and that unequivocally meant _no quickie on the sofa_.

His mouth closed around her nipple and she gasped again. He ran his fingers down her smooth back, feeling her trembling and shivering, and could not get enough of the sensation of her breast under his mouth, so soft and silky and damned sexy.

She was killing him, just being there. Breathing. Sighing.

He pressed on, tormenting her other breast, responding to her pleas for more by sliding his hands under her jeans, and she grasped his jaw and tilted his head back so she could plunder his mouth with hers in a series of devouring kisses.

It was all so very mutual, and he wanted her so very badly.

Karen stopped kissing him, her arms resting on his shoulders, her forehead to his. She was out of breath, and with each heave of her chest, her breasts brushed against him, her hard and now-damp nipples a sensual onslaught.

"Take me," she whispered, her brown eyes huge and full of desire. "Please."

"We should go slow," he managed.

A mildly evil smile curved her beautiful lips. "Go fast enough and you can take me twice before I have to leave."

He felt that all the way down to his groin, and his hands under her jeans kneaded reflexively. Karen ground to him with clear intent, and it was utterly impossible to think clearly, especially after her tongue invaded his mouth again and she made her demands known more completely.

"Dammit," he groaned, and unzipped his pants. She climbed off him long enough to get her jeans and panties off and then she was back in his lap, stroking him with purposeful fingers, not that she needed to because he was ready, so damn ready, so very _ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ he stopped thinking once the incredibly silky heat of her enveloped him.

No thinking at all. Just feeling.

Her thighs were so warm against his, her movements deliberate yet wild. They rose and fell against each other, tight and relentless, arms locked and mouths connected, and It. Was. Perfect.

Perfect. Incredible. _Karen_.

Karen Vick.

Who owned him now.

And he loved it.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen showered before leaving Carlton's place, but as she drove to pick up Iris she was positive anyone who so much as glanced at her would know instantly that she'd just spent the last two hours engaged in, for lack of a better phrase, hot sex with her head detective.

Forget that head detective crap. Carlton was her _lover_ now, and the sound of it in her head was wonderful.

He'd been wonderful. She loved that he'd wanted to go slow, to make it special, and she loved that he'd given in to her admittedly more base impulses, because to have that kind of pull on a man like him was… amazing.

They never made it off the sofa, but it really didn't matter. She'd been pretty sure when she headed there after dropping Iris at Ally's that she wasn't going home 'unsullied,' and it's not as if they would have used more space if they'd been in his bed. The two of them fused together just as well on his sofa.

She fanned herself with a fast food flyer, still warm. Still glowing.

Still sure.

Increasingly sure.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_A week ago_, Lassiter thought, _I had no idea Karen Vick saw me as anything other than a pain in the ass who happened to run the detective squad pretty well_.

_A week ago, I thought she was beautiful and in control and sometimes frustratingly unwilling to let me do what I want … and completely unavailable. So I didn't think about her. _

_Much. _

He didn't understand what the hell happened to change all that, despite her confession regarding his ultimatum.

That fifteen percent certainty she'd still change her mind was firmly in place. Entrenched, even. No way was it possible she wouldn't have regrets. If not about him as a cranky, paranoid robot (as he knew some considered him), then about him as her employee. About her position as the Chief. About her young daughter. About talk, supposition, reputation. The damn mayor.

He ran the usual route on Monday morning, images of their lovemaking flooding his brain. They hadn't gotten to see each other the rest of the weekend but they'd talked on the phone and she'd let him know she was feeling very good about their Saturday morning.

So much for no quickie on the sofa—they'd worked in two without ever even changing positions, and every single searing moment was imprinted on his psyche now. Karen was an intense, strong, voracious and generous lover. He was exhausted and rejuvenated at the same time after she left. The only refusal she'd allowed him was that he wouldn't shower with her, because Iris would not understand being kept waiting while they went 'round a third time.

The gray cat—Boss—was sitting at the end of her sidewalk, surveying her domain. She rose to all four paws when Lassiter slowed, rising to meet his hand as he petted her.

"You gave good advice," he said, and she gave him a feline 'duh' expression. "She likes me."

Boss purred.

"It's still crazy."

Boss flicked her tail and held his gaze, then sniffed in a _so-what_ manner which brought a smile to his face.

Yeah. Maybe this was one time that '_so what if it's crazy_?' was an answer he could accept.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen Vick strode into the police station Monday morning as if she owned the place.

Of course she did, sort of, but today it was an act. Today, she wasn't sure she could remember where her office was, especially since she could see, at the far end the bullpen, a black-and-silver haired blue-eyed man who looked up as if he sensed her presence and smiled oh so slightly.

Just enough to turn her legs to jelly.

She'd been fit for nothing all weekend after she got Iris home. She pretended to be a good mother. She fed her and took care of her and entertained her and scolded her when she had it coming, but on the inside she was aching for Carlton, aching to be back in his arms, aching to call him up late Saturday and give him the security code to her front door so he could come over, slip up the stairs in the dark, and make love to her until dawn.

And then stay in her bed until she could get back to it Sunday night.

He got up from his desk with a folder and approached her, and she realized she had to move—she might have stood there staring at him for another half hour otherwise. Nodding at him as if she weren't thinking what she'd been thinking, she went inside her office and a few moments later he came in behind her and said, "Good morning."

Like it was an ordinary day.

But Karen turned and looked into his ocean-blue eyes and saw the storm, and she saw the folder in his lean hand shaking a bit.

"Hi," she said, already melting.

_You cannot touch him. Not here._

Carlton sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "Yeah. Gonna be like that, isn't it."

She couldn't think. "Like what?"

"Like an all-out struggle not to just rip your clothes off right where you stand," he said flatly.

Karen sank into her chair. "Oh, God."

"Yeah… um… look. Here's the monthly stats you wanted, and I… just cut me some slack if I'm kind of squirrelly today, okay?"

"Same here," she admitted, but he knew. He handed her the folder in such a way that their hands touched, and he held his position long enough to have her full, undivided, _God-I-want-you_ attention.

Carlton stepped back and sighed. "O'Hara and I are going to spend some time in the park talking to the chess groups that meet there."

_Park. Park. Park? Oh, _that_ park_. "Okay. Good. Thanks. I… yeah." She felt flushed and utterly distracted, and her gaze fell to his mouth as she sighed.

He practically fled the room, and she couldn't blame him at all.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter and Juliet stopped at a coffee shop on the way to the park, and stood in the morning sunshine for a few moments discussing their next move. Juliet was of the opinion they should canvass the park together; he wanted to split up.

She wanted them to stay together because, as she pointed out gently, he tended to intimidate when he was impatient. Or when he thought people were stupid. Or when he was tired. Or when he was—

He got it, he assured her. He didn't even disagree; she would indeed be able to pre-soothe any feathers he might ruffle. Of course he hadn't suggested splitting up to save time or cover more ground. He'd suggested it because at some point his perceptive partner was going to figure out he wasn't in a bad mood, or even especially tired. She was going to figure out he was in a _good_ mood, and this was going to puzzle the hell out of her, and Little Miss Detective was going to fix him with her steely blue gaze and drag it out of him.

And somehow… somehow he was pretty sure it was too damn soon to say "I think I'm in love with Karen Vick and by the way we had fantastic sex this weekend."

Yeah.

A little too soon.

Okay… _never_ would be too soon, especially for the last half of the sentence.

So he agreed they'd stay together, and they got back in the car, and about three blocks from the park, Buzz McNab called to say that a potential lead had just been called in on the tip line.

A man known to be both one of Specht's chess buddies and also a gun-owner had been acting oddly at the park since the murders, and the anonymous tipster said he was presently in a smaller park across town engaged in another chess game.

Lassiter turned the car around and they went.

He wondered about Juliet's weekend, and how things were going with Spencer. He had no intention of asking.

Moeller Park, when they got there twenty minutes later, was nearly deserted. They got out and walked a bit, but the few people sitting on benches or on the grass were generally alone and pretty uninterested in anything else.

Juliet asked a woman sitting on a bench with a poodle on either side of her, "Can you tell me where the chess players are this morning?"

The woman frowned. "The chess guys don't usually come out on Mondays."

"Still. Where would they be?"

"Right over there," the woman said with a point toward the left, under the shade of some tall trees.

Lassiter asked her if she'd seen anyone lurking, or behaving oddly—and stopped when she started laughing.

"Mister, I see anyone behaving oddly, I'm outta here. On weekdays this place is dead."

Juliet thanked her and they crossed over to the far side of this most open area to talk to a guy reading a book (an actual book, not an e-reader screen). Their questions were answered the same way: he hadn't seen either any chess games or anyone behaving unusually.

Lassiter was starting to feel set up.

Juliet kept up with him on the way back to the car, and when they were inside, she turned to him and said, "I think this was a setup."

_Thank God_. "So do I."

"Meaning someone knows who the guy is and thought we were getting too close to finding him."

"Which means," he added levelly, "our guy's probably sitting right out in the open."

He wouldn't say the rest of it, but Juliet did, tightly: "With Shawn."

Lassiter just drove.

As it happened, Spencer and Guster were easy to spot, perched on a bench at the edge of the park. Lassiter pulled the delightfully quiet Crown Vic the wrong way into a street parking spot, putting them directly behind the gel-head and his BFF.

The man they were talking to was in his late forties and looked to be a bit edgy. His graying hair was unruly and he was long past needing a shave. He stood perpendicular to them, giving Lassiter a good look at his profile. He snapped a few photos with his cell phone.

Juliet was highly irritated with Spencer, but sucked it up enough to point out fairly reasonably, "That might not be our guy."

"It might not," Lassiter agreed.

"But it probably is."

"Yep." He looked at her.

She sighed and put her hand on the door. "Stay here. Let me do this."

Lassiter shrugged. He could afford to be mellow today of all days.

Juliet got out of the car and strolled up behind Spencer. The man spotted her and this cued Spencer to turn around.

"Hey, Jules!" he said with false brightness.

She ignored him and spoke to the man, loud enough for Lassiter to hear clearly. "Sir? I need to give you a warning."

He was uncertain… nervous. "Me? About what?"

She pointed at Spencer and Guster. "Them."

"Jules, _what_?"

As if Spencer hadn't spoken, she addressed only the man. "They are not your friends. They are using you for information. They will twist what you say and use it against you. They will get in your head and mix up everything you think is real."

"Jules!"

Now she glanced at them, and pointed to Guster. "Him, not so much. He's a pretty good guy. But this one?" And she definitely pointed to Spencer. "Con all the way. So be careful, all right? You really _cannot_ trust them."

Spencer was open-mouthed and Guster was utterly horrified.

The man was open-mouthed, too. Juliet handed him a card, which he took automatically. "When you're ready to talk to people who only want the truth and won't take you for a ride, give me a call." One last glare to Spencer, and she headed back to the car.

Lassiter was fascinated. It was a strange move tactically if the guy was their shooter, but he had to admit it was fun to watch.

Spencer followed her, still protesting. "Jules! Jules, stop! What the hell was _that_?"

They were just a few feet away from the Crown Vic, but Juliet didn't lower her voice. "Well, Shawn, I think _that_ was us screwing around with _you_ for a change."

She moved away again but he tugged on her arm—with a glare to Lassiter—and pulled her a few feet further down the sidewalk.

Still, he could hear perfectly.

"I don't understand. Why the hell would you do that? That guy could be _the_ guy!"

"I know. Is that why you called the tipline? To send us on a wild-goose chase across town while _you_ talked to him?"

He paused, guilt all over his face. "Well… this is a highly mobile society, Jules. People can cross vast distances incredibly quickly; I saw two Segways on the freeway just last week. He could have been anywhere and it was _possible_ he was in Moeller Park just like the anonymous caller said."

"It's interference with a police investigation," she snapped. "It's illegal, Shawn, and it's tacky, and it makes me want to slap you!"

Spencer took a step back just in case. "Jules. Jules, listen. I just really need to solve this case to get back on Team Vick. If I can bring this one home, she'll have to—"

"This has never been about you solving cases! This has been about how you act while you solve them!"

"What's that supposed to mean? How I act?"

_You cannot be that stupid_, Lassiter thought. _Why do you think _we_ are?_

Juliet was beyond furious now, her fists clenched at her side. "Yes, Shawn, how you act! Like, oh, I don't know, calling in false tips and wasting our time!"

"I'm not trying to waste your time! I'm just trying to get this case solved!"

"No! No you're not. You're trying to be _the one who solves it_. There is a profound difference, and somehow I am not at all surprised you don't see it."

He was taken aback, and it seemed genuine. "But as long as the case gets solved—"

"You're an idiot," Lassiter called out, exiting the car in a hurry. "And your suspect is getting away." He took off running after the guy, and whether they followed, he couldn't be concerned.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	7. Chapter 7: Showdown the Second

**CHAPTER SEVEN: SHOWDOWN THE SECOND**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

In the end, it was Juliet who saved the day.

Lassiter ran like hell through the park, dodging sitters and walkers and joggers and Frisbee-tossers; he nimbly jumped over, ran around and otherwise avoided dogs, ducks, toddlers and sleepers.

The man he was chasing was nearly as fast as he was. Nearly.

But he wasn't as collision-free; there were several times when Lassiter, hot on his heels, had to avoid the debris cast down by one of the unfortunate victims of an unintentional body-slam.

Guster, somehow, impossibly, came out of nowhere from the side—Lassiter dimly remembered a long-standing fact of the Spencer/Guster partnership being Gus' speed relative to Spencer's—and leapt at the man.

Regretfully, he missed. Lassiter sprawled on top of Guster with an _oof_ before he could hit his personal brakes and the man got a good thirty feet in front of them when Juliet, not too far behind and probably way more pissed off than any of the rest of them, took a shot into the clear space ahead of the suspect… who froze.

Lassiter was on his feet in one second, and that second was all he needed to take the temporarily-indecisive suspect down.

Spencer jogged up, desperately out of breath. "Good… job, Lassie. Good… yeah… job…"

Juliet gave a hand up to Guster and hurried over to Lassiter, who'd dragged the suspect to his feet and was cuffing him.

"Good thing… you've got… those…" Pause to hold his side in pain. "… long stick legs… huh… yeah…"

"Shut up, Shawn," Juliet snapped.

"Why were you running?" Lassiter demanded of the man, yanking his ID out of his pocket. "Dennis Vander. Why?"

"Why were you chasing me?" Vander retorted.

"Because you started running, moron." Lassiter jerked him around. "I think we'll be taking you down to the police station for a little Q&A. We give the Qs, you give the As… got that?"

Spencer was still gasping. "Surprised your… ears… don't… hold you back… when you… run, Lassie."

Juliet spun on her heels. "Didn't I _just_ tell you to shut up?"

"You… were serious?"

Lassiter gave a curt nod to Guster. "Thanks for the attempted assist."

Gus nodded, brushing dirt off his khakis. He looked between Spencer and the others nervously and Lassiter knew he was aware they were in a Bad Place. In fact, the only reason he could think of that Guster would have launched himself at Vander was in an attempt to bolster Psych's sagging reputation.

"All right, guys," Juliet said, returning her weapon to its holster. "You two are coming back to the station too."

"You… don't need us, Ju…ules. You got the guy. I'm… sure Lassie here… can beat the… answers out of him. That's… how he gets… most of them any… way… right?"

Lassiter didn't wait to hear anything else. He marched Vander back across the park and its gathering onlookers, and stuffed him into the Crown Vic for the ride 'home.'

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen sat through a budget meeting at City Hall, her mind wandering. She needed more coffee, Councilman Nolan was an idiot, the sun reflecting off the glass in the framed paintings was blinding her, and ever in her head was Saturday morning with Carlton.

And how to get that close to him again.

As much as she loved her daughter, it crossed her mind more than once—not that she was proud of it—to come up with ways to get her out of the house for a few hours. Two would be enough, she thought a bit guiltily, no matter what Carlton's better intentions were, and overnight would be fan-damn-tastic.

Friday was a long-ass time away.

The councilman was speaking to her. She forced her attention back to the meeting and spoke with relative authority as to the question she hoped he'd asked.

It seemed to work, and then someone asked about the status of the double homicide in the park. She said coolly that her best team was working the case, and they hoped to have answers soon.

Councilman Nolan said, "I understand those psychics were claiming information?"

Karen frowned—but kept her smile on. "If you're referring to our consultant Shawn Spencer and his associate, the majority of the information they brought had already been uncovered by my detectives."

"And the rest of it?"

"Was vague."

Nolan was interested. "And do they get paid for providing redundant and/or vague information? I ask because this is a budget meeting, after all."

_Clever_, she thought, and said coolly, "When we hire them, we pay for the information they provide. However, since they've _not_ been hired for this investigation, I think the budget is safe. Sir."

Another councilman asked peremptorily, "Shouldn't _all_ resources be utilized to solve a high-profile crime of this nature?"

Nolan glared at him, but the man was waiting for Karen's response.

"All resources are utilized as needed, Councilman. I'm confident my excellent detectives have the investigation well in hand. Now if you want to discuss hiring more police officers, I'm certainly interested in providing whatever information you need to make that happen."

He dropped it. She let her Inner Smirk go wild.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Dennis Vander was ex-military with considerable marksmanship skills. He'd been honorably discharged due to unspecified health reasons, or at least reasons Lassiter and Juliet couldn't get to at the moment, and Vander wasn't volunteering.

He admitted Specht was his chess friend, and he admitted that the gun they recovered from his car was registered in his name, and as a matter of fact, did use the same caliber bullets as the one which killed Nalley.

There was no green bit of paper found on his person, but it didn't take long for Buzz to report in that Specht's park chess club had made up little fake 'badges' in the same color green paper as found on his body.

"So," Lassiter said relatively calmly, "you and Specht were in the same chess club, you own a gun and were an expert military marksman, and… I'm not really seeing why we shouldn't consider you a lead suspect in the murder of Tom Nalley."

Behind him, Juliet idly paced a slow careful line from one end of the room to the other.

Vander slouched in his chair, and Lassiter read in him something akin to a caged animal, a man trying his best to keep his cool under pressure. "How about I had no motive?"

"How about Specht was a friend of yours and maybe you came up on him fighting with Nalley? How about you saw Nalley stab him and took revenge?"

Vander shook his head, staring at the table surface. "I had no reason to kill that guy. I didn't even know him."

"No," Lassiter corrected, "you had no reason to _flee_. You had a reason to kill him, if you were trying to stop him from harming your friend."

"So how come you're not asking why Nalley killed Specht?" he demanded.

"Because I figure you're the only person who knows the answer to that question."

Vander glared at him, pale blue eyes watery. He was fatigued and agitated and right now he hated everyone in sight.

Juliet said quietly, "We'll give you a minute," and tapped Lassiter on the arm.

He rose wordlessly and followed her out into Observation.

"He's about to lose it."

"I know." Lassiter ran his hand through his hair. "Anybody else I'd say bring it on, but I don't think this guy's gonna go nuts in a calm and orderly manner."

She sighed. "I'll go check with ballistics."

Lassiter studied her; in a way she was just as agitated at Vander. "What did you do with Spencer and Guster?" She had insisted they come back to the station, but that had been over two hours ago and he hadn't seen or heard them anywhere.

"They're in Interrogation B," she said, her tone short. "I told them to wait until the Chief came back."

His eyebrows rose. "And you think they're still _there_?"

"I think the armed officer at the door's pretty sure they're still there." She slipped out the door before he could express surprise.

And not a little admiration.

He took a look through the one-way glass and watched Vander for a moment.

His mind was working through the details, and it seemed pretty simple: for whatever reason, Nalley and Specht fought. Vander walked up into it and shot Nalley to stop the assault on his friend. Ballistics indicated the gunshot which killed Nalley had been fired from at least ten feet away, but it was a clean shot with deadly accuracy. Vander had that skill.

The door opened and he turned idly, expecting Juliet.

But it was the Chief of Police, who looked around to be sure he was alone. "Hey," she said softly, closing the door.

Lassiter swallowed. Yeah… he still wanted her. "Hey. Here's our suspect."

Karen stood beside him at the glass and he drank in her scent, and after a moment her hand slipped into his warmly. "You like him for it?"

"Yeah. Ballistics has the gun now. He's edgy, but he hasn't asked for a lawyer." He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, leaning against him possessively, making him flush.

"Get him one," she said. "The minute Ballistics comes back with a match. This case is too public for there to be any question about how we're handling it."

"Yes, ma'am." He savored the feel of her hand in his, and it was such a sweet and simple thing, really, hand-holding, that it took the edge off most of the day and _some_ of how much he wanted her.

She smiled up at him, and he thought again that her eyes were utterly beautiful.

"We do have one issue," he said, hating to break the spell. "It involves Spencer."

"Of course it does. I'm already annoyed."

"Excellent. Saves time." He was one second away from kissing her when the door opened again.

"Oh, Chief, good," said Juliet. "They told me you were back. We need to speak with you and Henry and Psych in your office about this Vander case."

_We do? Well… yeah, we do_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen led the parade to her office, noting but not asking why Shawn and Gus were let out of Interrogation B—as in _allowed_ to leave—because she figured all would be made clear soon enough.

Taking a seat, she made quick judgments that Henry wasn't sure what was going on, Shawn and Gus were unsettled, Carlton was doing his usual admirable impression of impassive, and Juliet was made of icy bits of stone.

"You have my undivided attention. Why is McNab posted outside the door?"

McNab turned and nodded, a bit embarrassed, and no one answered her question. _Let it go for now_, she decided.

"We had a tip this morning," Juliet began calmly enough, "just as we were about to arrive at the park, which directed us across town to Moeller Park to find our suspect."

Karen glanced at Shawn. He was unusually un-fidgety.

"It only took a few minutes to figure out we'd been sent on a snipe hunt. It only took a few _seconds_ to realize who called in the tip." She looked pointedly in Shawn's direction.

Henry rolled his eyes. "Shawn," he muttered, but that was all.

"When we came back to our original destination, we found Shawn and Gus talking to Vander, who subsequently fled. He—"

"Excuse me, but I think you left out the part where you told Vander we couldn't be trusted!" Shawn objected, as if he had her over a barrel.

"I also left out the part where you _admitted_ to calling in a fraudulent tip and thus impeding a police investigation," she shot back.

Karen interrupted. "You warned Vander about them?" _'Bout time someone did_. "What was your reason for doing that?"

Juliet met her gaze squarely. "Chief, I was pissed off and tired of being jerked around. At the moment I issued the warning, we didn't have any actual reason to suspect Vander of anything. For all we knew, Shawn was quizzing him about taco stands."

Oh, it was hard to resist a grin, and Karen silently commended her for admitting to her own human frailty.

Huffing, Shawn folded his arms and shook his head. Gus looked ill.

She stole a glance at Carlton, who was watching her, still impassive. She commended him too, because surely it was taking massive self-control not to egg Juliet on.

"And then?"

"We pursued Vander."

"We helped," Shawn interjected.

"_Gus_ attempted to tackle Vander," Juliet said composedly, "but was unsuccessful; however, Carlton lost his balance, which cleared a path for me to discharge my weapon and get Vander's attention. Carlton then took him down." She glanced up at her partner, who nodded at her solemnly.

"And none of that would have happened if you'd just stayed out it," Shawn said hotly.

Juliet turned on him at once. "Stayed _out_ of it? Stayed out of _police business_?"

Karen held up her hand. "Let me get this straight, Mr. Spencer. You had reason to believe Dennis Vander was a person of interest in this investigation?"

"Yes! I… divined that he was a chess player, and… the spirits told me he'd be at the park this morning for a new tournament."

Karen sighed. "And _divining_ that he was a person of interest in an investigation you have not been hired by any person or agency to participate in, you not only withheld this information from the police, but willfully—"

"I had to be sure!" he protested. "And I _would_ have been sure if Jules hadn't been pissed at me, and he never would have run or had to be chased by Stilts over there, and—"

"Enough!" she snapped, getting to her feet, because there it was again. Yet another needless slam to Carlton, one like so damned many she had let pass over the years. "_Do not_ interrupt me again, Mr. Spencer."

He subsided. Henry rubbed his face, because he, unlike his son, could see the train coming.

"Not only did you withhold the information," Karen went on flatly, "but you willfully misdirected my officers across town so you could question the man first."

"Well, since you keep saying we're not working the case, technically we had a right to talk to anyone we wanted to in the park."

Karen couldn't believe it, _but fine, let's play it that way_. "And Mr. Spencer, you are so right! You _are_ free to talk to any damn person you want in the park, from chess players to black market hair gel suppliers. But that's not the crux of the problem, see. The crux of the problem is that you are not, in this matter, some innocent citizen just chattin' up a new bud. You are a citizen who knew perfectly well not to get involved in this investigation, and you set out to deliberately impede it for your own utterly stupid-ass reasons!"

Gus abruptly crossed to the table in the corner and sat down, obviously not sure his legs would hold him up anymore.

"I wouldn't call them stupid-ass," Shawn managed.

"No, I don't suppose you would. And here you are, still managing to deny, evade, work in totally inappropriate insults to my head detective, and act like the wounded puppy you have most likely never once been in your entire life."

Henry cleared his throat. "Karen, if I may…"

"No. No, Henry, you may not, because I have finally had enough. Impeding a police investigation is a serious matter. If my detectives hadn't caught Vander, who _knows_ where he'd be right now?"

Shawn argued, "He only ran because she warned him!"

"He ran," Carlton said calmly, "because he overheard your argument with O'Hara, wherein you referred to him as 'the guy.'"

"Stay out of this, Lassie."

"It's Lassi_ter_," Juliet ground out.

"God help us, every one," Gus whispered.

Karen again snapped, "That's enough! There are _consequences_, Mr. Spencer, to every action, and so far as I can see you've skated past a lot of them over the years." She stared at him a moment, trying to figure out why in the hell he _just wouldn't learn_. "You know, I can only imagine how many times Henry had to send you to your room when you were a boy—or _thirty_—but I think it's high time we tried that tactic again."

Henry looked up sharply. Shawn's eyes went wide.

She zoomed in on Gus. "Mr. Guster, did you make the phone call to the tipline or in any way encourage your associate to do so, and before you answer, keep in mind we record every tip?"

He stared in terror at her, and then at Shawn, and then at Henry, and then back at Shawn.

Shawn gave it up with a sigh. "He didn't do it. He tried to talk me out of it."

Gus almost shuddered with relief.

Karen turned back to Shawn and spoke very clearly so he wouldn't miss even one syllable. "Shawn Spencer, you are under arrest for impeding a police investigation, and if I have anything to say about it—and guess what, I do!—you will spend at least one full night in jail."

Henry said, "Karen—"

Shawn said anxiously, "Chief—"

Juliet was stock still and Carlton reached for his cuffs, but he kept whatever joy he might have felt to himself.

She held up her hand. "Stand down, Detective. I wouldn't _dream_ of giving up this prize to Shawn's father, girlfriend _or_ favorite punching bag." She yanked open her top drawer and removed her own pair of handcuffs, and Shawn was completely horrified. "Turn around, please. I strongly suggest you try something new and exercise your right to remain silent, because I can for damn sure promise you that anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney that your father or friend can afford, or you can take whichever desperate public defender wants the job. Do you understand these rights?"

He obeyed, stunned into silence for no doubt the first time in two decades, and Karen fastened the cuffs around his wrists with a satisfying click. Nodding to Buzz, who was still standing agog in the doorway, she asked him to escort Mr. Spencer to Booking.

"Oh, and Shawn," she added pleasantly, "if you're hoping to get your father or Mr. Guster to bail you out in the next five minutes? You'd be surprised just how _long_ it can take to do some types of paperwork."

_God, I love my job sometimes._

Shawn had no fight left in him. Henry just kept shaking his head.

Karen waved dismissively toward the door, and all of them left slowly and silently, except for Juliet, who hung back in the doorway to say three words very, very quietly.

"That's _ex_-girlfriend, Chief."

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	8. Chapter 8: The Pause That Refreshes

**CHAPTER EIGHT: THE PAUSE THAT REFRESHES**

**. . . .**

. . .

_**(M ahead)**_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It had been a long day. Very, very long.

Ballistics confirmed that Vander's gun fired the bullet which killed Nalley. Vander was locked up and waiting for his public defender to arrive in the morning, but he was admitting to nothing whatsoever.

Getting Spencer booked had been like watching a ponderous French film full of ennui and despair. McNab asked to be excused. Officer Allen conveniently went on break. Neither of them objected to the fact of Spencer's arrest, but both of them were fond enough of the idiot to resist being the one whose name went on the paperwork.

Finally Henry Spencer stepped up. "Eighteen years old, thirty-six years old; it's all the same." He glanced at his silent son, and shook his head again. Gus hovered a while, and after Spencer was taken down to the cells, he finally left, utterly unsure of what to do.

Lassiter stepped away after collecting Karen's handcuffs, and firmly steered Juliet away with him. After leaving Karen's office she'd tugged on his arm and said, "I ended it while they were still in Interrogation," in a voice so firm and yet sad that he'd very nearly hugged her out of sheer sympathy. Not for the loss of Spencer, because she would be better off, but for the loss of her faith in him.

Now, he maneuvered her to her desk and told her he'd bring coffee in a minute, but she got up again and stood by his side. "Carlton."

He poured coffee into her favorite mug. "Bad day all around, O'Hara."

"Are you okay?"

"Me?" He was flummoxed. "I'm fine. Why would you think I'm not?"

Juliet sighed, tucking stray tendrils of hair behind her ears. "You shouldn't be used to the way he treats you. And you fell on Gus pretty hard—how are you?"

"O'Hara," he said as gently as he could remember talking to her in a long time. "I'm fine. _You've_ had a worse day than anyone here. You had the courage to stand up for what was right against someone you care about, and you ended a relationship you worked damn hard to get." Even if the latter never made any sense to anyone else on the planet.

She took the mug gratefully. "I'll be okay. I hope this convinces the Chief to refuse to let you step down."

He thought about it a moment, separating out his increasingly intense feelings for Karen from his sense of who she was as Chief. "She'll make the best decision for the department."

"You said you weren't going to work with Shawn on this case, and look, he still managed to force his way in." She was sad again.

"But this time, thanks to you, he's being held accountable for it. Okay?" He held her gaze until she nodded. "Listen, O'Hara, go home early. You deserve it."

Staring into her coffee, she hardly seemed to hear him at first. "And do what?"

"Pet your cats," he said simply. "I've recently re-discovered just how nice they can be."

That seemed to do the trick; Juliet smiled. "You're right. Maybe I will. I'll just finish up my paperwork. Thanks, Carlton."

After she was gone, and because he could see Karen through her blinds, and because he wanted to see her more closely, and because the next time he glanced up she was looking directly at him, he got up and carried her handcuffs down the hall.

She rested her head on one hand, pen in the other, and the smile was just for him. "Hey. Would you close the door, please?"

He did, and handed her the cuffs. "How are you doing?"

Karen was amused. "Time was, you never would have asked me that."

"Time was, I assumed if I did, you'd think I was patronizing you."

She nodded, putting the cuffs in her drawer. "I might have. Especially on a day like today when I find myself second-guessing my actions."

Lassiter sat down. "You don't need to second-guess anything. My personal situation aside, the truth is Spencer had this coming and you did the right thing."

"But if it weren't for your personal situation smacking me upside the head and making me see what I'd willfully ignored all these years—"

"Karen," he said gently.

"I'm not second-guessing the arrest. I'm second-guessing why it took me so long to do something about him." She sat back, rubbing her temples. "I have done you so wrong, Carlton."

The quality of her voice was almost pleading, and he felt himself struggling to keep still in the chair rather than go to her.

"Karen, stop. I didn't complain enough to make it... real to you. And I'd wager _none_ of us has ever come up against anyone like Spencer before."

A wry smile was his reward, softening her features. "That is too true." She sighed. "O'Hara told me she broke it off with him."

"Yeah. Bad day for her."

"Bad day for you, too," she said evenly. "You got hurt this morning?"

"No. Guster broke my fall."

She laughed a little. "I shouldn't worry about you. You're a pretty tough guy."

"The stilts are made of quality wood," he said lightly.

But Karen frowned immediately. "Don't give his insults credence."

Lassiter was warmed by her fervor, but felt the need to reassure her. "Look, Karen, Spencer isn't the first person to make remarks about my build, and I _can_ handle it. I'm not going to say I like it, but the point isn't whether someone's low-rent enough to snark about my weight or my ears: it's about how that affects the _investigation_."

"I know. I know." She was weary. "I'm going to let him sit overnight and then I'll release him myself in the morning."

It was more than Spencer deserved. "Is Henry giving you any trouble?"

Her upward glance was amused. "Not so far. I don't think he's going to break him out or anything. And yes, I know this is ultimately pointless. One night in jail isn't going to change his basic character."

"It's _not_ pointless, because it lays the groundwork for future action," he said. "The next time he crosses a line, the consequences get justifiably worse."

Karen relaxed. "Also true. You still want to be Chief someday?"

"Not at all," he said without hesitation, and meant it.

"That's what I thought." She didn't quite smirk. "When I can be alone with you again?"

The question took him by surprise… but not really. It was an undercurrent now, something swirling between them. "It's up to you, Karen. If it were up to me, we'd have left here hours ago."

Karen's deep brown eyes widened, and she turned a pleasing shade of pink. "Um... all right then." As if reaching a decision, she threw her pen down and said, "Come over about seven. You can have dessert with me and Iris. She goes to bed at 8:30."

Lassiter stared at her, memorizing the curve of her lips and recalling their taste.

"And _we_ go to bed at 8:35," she added softly. "Bring your toothbrush."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Humming as she put dishes in the dishwasher, Karen couldn't help but replay the last of her conversation with Carlton that afternoon.

He'd said, blue eyes wide, "But Iris…"

She told him Iris was a pretty heavy sleeper. It was true; the girl had once slept through the house alarm going bonkers, and getting her up in the mornings was often a major battle.

And, she added, she herself knew how to be quiet when necessary. Her feline grin made him blush.

But then he'd said, "Your neighbors…"

She told him she'd open the garage door and he could park next to her car.

He said, almost weakly, "But in the morning…"

She said, "You can leave before Iris wakes up. I know it seems like sneaking around, but Carlton, I think, honestly, that I need this more than I've needed anything for myself in a really long time. I need to be with you, just you, just for a while."

Carlton relaxed, and the light in his cerulean eyes was remarkable. "I'm not sure _I_ can be quiet," he said with a faint smile and an arched eyebrow.

Karen had burst into laughter, to the point she had to turn away from him to compose herself and beat back the images he'd caused to kick her hormones into overdrive. "Okay. Okay," she managed, wiping her eyes. "Please, just come over for ice cream at seven. If you decide to leave when Iris goes to bed, I won't hold it against you, I promise. I really don't want that cougar reputation, you know."

He grinned, getting to his feet. "I told you not to worry about that. A cougar as _hot_ as you can hold whatever she wants against me." Another quirk of his dark brow, and he left her.

Thrumming.

Iris was pleased he was coming over. She'd talked about him over the weekend, in fascination, and Karen couldn't help but wonder if it was partly because she hadn't brought any men to the house since the divorce.

She'd turned down a few date offers, initially because she wasn't ready, and then because she didn't want to start all over again while carrying the mantle of Chief of Police. She knew she had to be careful what kind of man to let into her life—into Iris' life—and already rejected out of hand anyone in politics or associated in even the slightest way with City Hall.

And Carlton was _sitting_ there the whole time, in her daily line of sight! Fierce, dedicated, irascible and utterly delectable, the latter of which she admitted to herself was not a _new_ realization on her part. He was so solitary, but she'd sensed—and now she _knew_—that he was not made for that. He was made to be half of a whole.

Karen closed the dishwasher and wiped down the counter, and when he rang the doorbell she let Iris run to answer it.

When she caught up, Iris was hugging Carlton, who seemed pretty happy about it, a smile of honest appreciation on his lean face. He'd changed into jeans and a tee under a worn leather jacket and he just looked so… so… sooo… she sighed.

"We're having ice cream and pie," Iris told him excitedly, and ran back down to the kitchen.

Carlton smiled down at Karen and she tilted her head for a kiss, which he granted—the touch of his lips brief but tantalizing, his hand on her back almost possessive.

Which was more than okay with her

"Come on!" Iris yelled.

"I pulled in to the garage," he murmured.

"I'll put the door down. Go on in—the ice cream's in the freezer."

When she got back to the kitchen, she found Iris pontificating to Carlton about the different ways one could eat pie with ice cream. He was seated at the table, smiling at her, utterly captivated, and Karen was astonished that Victoria Parker had ever thought he didn't want children_. Look at the man—he's enraptured. _

_Look at _me_, looking at him… _I'm_ enraptured_.

He raised his blue, blue eyes to her, still smiling, and for a moment, with crystal clarity, she knew this scenario, with these two people, was one she wanted to see again and again in her life.

It was nuts, to feel that way after just a few days of… whatever the hell this was.

But…

But she did know him.

She knew who he was in the _world_. She didn't know who he was when he was alone—not yet, not fully—but she aimed to find out. Despite his prickly shell—his defenses—she knew Carlton was a good man. Possibly the best man, with deep reserves not yet discovered.

And since Karen had originally become a cop because she liked to solve puzzles, what better puzzle to devote herself to than Carlton Lassiter?

It was a pleasant evening. Iris was enchanted with the attentive man and his big blue eyes, he was as relaxed as she'd ever seen him, and if only the rest of life were this simple.

He didn't have to tell her he'd decided to stay the night. She knew.

Iris allowed herself to be put to bed on time, and the ice cream and pie had made her sleepy enough that she was out almost as soon as Karen pulled the blanket up over her. She smoothed curls back from her daughter's sweet face, kissed her forehead, and went back downstairs, turning off most of the lower level lights on the way to the den.

Carlton was standing at the mantel, studying the framed photos of Iris and Karen. Her ex-husband was in a few—Karen would never remove evidence of his presence as long as it helped Iris to see him there—but he seemed most interested in the photos of her.

She went to his side and put her arm around his waist. "See something you like?"

"Yes, I do." His arm slid around her shoulders, and he turned her to face him. "You."

Karen flushed at the look in his eyes, and caressed his jaw, drawing him down to kiss her.

It was deep and languorous, his tongue seeking hers at once, his hands on her back as she pressed to him, and this, finally, made the day _right_.

"More," she whispered against his lips. "More."

"Iris," he whispered back.

"Already out," she promised, but Carlton needed convincing, and maybe a few minutes to accept what she already knew, so she led him instead to the sofa.

"Uh, I remember what happened the last time we sat on a sofa," he said dryly.

Karen laughed. "That was your place, and it's not like Iris had a key." But still, she was willing to compromise. She sat down and invited him to lay his head in her lap.

He was agreeable to this, closing his beautiful eyes when she stroked his temples and hair and dropped gentle kisses on his face. He captured one of her hands as it trailed down his chest, leaving the other free to tease at the normally-controlled waves of his soft hair.

"Don't relax too much," she warned. "I have plans for you."

Carlton grinned, his eyes still closed. "Like I don't have plans for _you_. I'm just uptight enough to need to be sure your daughter is completely asleep."

"I," she whispered against his forehead, "will do my best to relax the hell out of you."

Now his eyes opened, and he said very slowly, "I don't think that's going to happen."

Maybe not. She was feeling very _un_-relaxed herself.

She kissed him, and he shifted, sitting up to kiss her properly (improperly), and in a very short while she urged him to please, please come upstairs, and he didn't answer but he did get up and take her hand.

Quietly they went up the stairs—after a pause for him to get his overnight bag from the garage—and into her room, after another pause to look in on Iris, who was completely and totally and undeniably asleep.

Her door safely closed, Karen turned on the bedside lamp and studied Carlton for a moment. She felt far more than a physical want, and _that_ was strong enough.

He stood with her, their hands entwined, and kissed her, his warm mouth just exploring, finding hers yielding and yet also seeking. It felt so incredibly right to kiss this man. He felt so incredibly… _hers_.

Karen's heart thudded in her chest and there had to be more, more now. _Now_.

But it was Carlton who took the lead, unbuttoning her blouse rapidly and casting it aside, putting his lips to her throat and the soft skin of her cleavage. His hands undid her bra and that was gone soon, and Karen pressed to him, wanting to be ever closer even though he was still dressed.

They went on kissing as he unzipped her jeans and pushed them down off her hips, the panties following, and then Karen was nude, quite happily so.

Carlton gazed at her for a long time, the blue of his eyes showing a hundred kinds of appreciation and desire, and when his hands cupped her rear and tugged her close, she wanted him naked too, and pretty damn quick.

He growled when she yanked at his tee, because he was still kissing her, but took over, pulling it off while she unbelted him and went for his zipper.

No protests there, until he asked why they were still standing instead of in the bed, which question she answered by climbing onto it and tugging him down beside her.

She loved his lean body and the light fur on his chest, and she even more loved being skin-to-skin, head to toe. Her tongue danced with his while their hands stroked each other, _all_ over, with intent, and all of this intent was wicked.

Her fingernails down his strong back made him shiver and arch against her, and the tempo of his kisses became more luxuriously tormenting. He would have moved southward but she didn't want that yet; she wanted to remain fully covered by his heat and Carlton-ness.

But he had other means of tormenting her, and they involved his hand sliding down between their bodies, finding, as he had found on Saturday, many _many_ ways to drive her mad with pleasure.

Karen wrapped her arms around his back, helpless under the power of his wonderful long fingers, parting her thighs almost involuntarily, and _dear God_ it was hard not to shriek when the first orgasm hit. He kissed her relentlessly during the second one, muffling her moans with his hungry mouth, and then finally it was time. Finally.

She locked her calves around his and welcomed his drive home, deep home… where she dazedly thought he should have been a long damn time ago.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter woke up momentarily disoriented, but the heat of Karen's body next to his reminded him with delightful precision of his whereabouts… and 'who-abouts.'

He lifted his head enough to see her bedside clock: not quite one a.m. Much earlier than he expected, but then they'd started their mutual pleasures pretty early.

And… yeah.

He was lying nude in his boss' bed. No… Karen's bed. His _lover's_ bed. He'd been well and truly… boinked, and was pretty damn sure he'd done right by Karen in the process, judging by the difficulty she had keeping quiet as he ravished her.

The sofa-sex had been incredible. _This_—body to body, room to explore, all parts touched and kissed and loved—this was incredible times ten.

Karen sighed, turning her head slightly, and he watched her sleep for a bit. Her high cheekbones, her perfect lips (still a bit swollen from endless fierce kisses), her long dark lashes, her tousled honey-gold hair… she was lovely, no matter how she might argue if he told her. The sheet only came up to her waist and she lay on her side, seeming so relaxed. Sated.

Well, _he_ was suddenly incredibly aroused, dammit.

He should let her sleep. Like O'Hara, she'd had a hellacious Spencer Day, and they'd worked each other over pretty well in the last few hours.

But… damn, she was tempting.

"Are you going to stare at me all night or are you going to touch me like I want you to?" she murmured, her eyes still closed.

Desire flared, and he simply said, "Come here," pulling her to lie on top of him, fluffing the sheet out over them both.

"Mmm, me likey," she murmured between slow and decadent kisses.

He was nearly lost, nearly completely lost.

"And I think you like me too," she added, her breath warm on his cheek.

"Yes," he groaned, feeling her grinding to him. "God, yes."

"And that makes me very happy, Carlton."

Happy enough to hear it, he kissed her more deeply, but she added in a whisper:

"The kind of happy I think you could make me feel forever."

Lassiter's heart lurched, and he grasped her shoulders, stilling her motions and pulling back from her tempting mouth.

"Karen," he breathed.

She ran one fingertip across his lower lip, gazing at him.

He couldn't ask her if she were crazy. He couldn't ask her exactly what she meant. This relationship was less than a week old and this was their second time together and her daughter was down the hall and he was not used to women using the words 'happy' and 'forever' in a positive way around him. They didn't mean it. Or they meant it for a few minutes and then remembered he was a cranky SOB they could all too easily live without.

Karen was still watching him, her warm body draped over his. She wasn't going anywhere and didn't seem to want to be moved.

"I know CPR," she said, and kissed him hard.

To that, Lassiter could give himself up. The words—too soon. She had to know it was too soon.

But she also knew how to seduce him into sensory overload, and proved it throughout the rest of the night.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	9. Chapter 9: Moving Forward

**CHAPTER NINE: MOVING FORWARD**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen woke alone, but Carlton wasn't far away. She could see a light from under the bathroom door, and heard the shower running.

She knew she had made a mistake last night. She'd terrified him. Second time they were together and she threw _feelings_ at him—idiot! Classic New Relationship Blunder!

He'd made love to her with fierce passion and she _knew_ those feelings were there for him too: she felt it in every motion of his body against hers. But Carlton wasn't a man to trust feelings—unless they involved crime—and he was probably obsessing about what she'd said.

She had a daughter, she was the Chief of Police, she was his supervisor, she was supposed to be making a damn decision about how to handle Spencer in relation to Carlton as Head Detective. She _wasn't_ someone he would expect to easily transition from all of that _reality_ to… a lover.

A _love_.

Muffling curses into her pillow, Karen berated herself for speaking so freely.

It was just that ever since this started… ever since his ultimatum and their afternoon with Robbie… she'd just… _known_.

It was like discovering Dove Dark chocolate after a lifetime of M&Ms.

Like discovering Kona coffee after police station swill.

Like discovering home-grown tomatoes after pale grocery-store imitations.

Like discovering Carlton… after any other man.

She sighed profoundly.

Carlton came out of the bathroom and back to the bed, bending to kiss her. He was still damp, and the towel around his waist would have looked much better on the floor.

But he was in get-dressed-mode; the clock showed it wasn't much past five and he was no doubt trying to get out well before there was any chance Iris might see him.

Karen held on to the edge of the towel as he stepped away, tugging it free easily.

Carlton turned back, grinning.

"Nice butt," she said appreciatively.

"Thanks. Wait until you see my 'however.'" He returned to kiss her again, more meaningfully. "I have to go."

"Not yet. Please. You're just too… _yummy_."

Carlton blushed, which she loved, and she sat up enough to draw a line with her fingertip from his sternum to his nether regions, making him shiver. He was tempted, and she knew it.

"Karen…"

"Carlton…" she cajoled.

"Dammit." He got back into bed with her, all clean and damp and warm, and she sullied him up good, making him laugh and sigh and find great pleasure, the same he gave to her.

"I was right," she commented afterward, his arm draped across her midriff and his lips nuzzling her shoulder. "I _did_ know how to relax the hell out of you."

"I don't know myself," he agreed. "Criminals will laugh in my face today and I won't even care."

"Well… now you're just scaring me."

He scared _her_ a little in the next moment because he rolled over suddenly and pinned her down, capturing her wrists up by her head and staring at her, his impossibly blue eyes mesmerizing her like they always did.

"You…" he sighed. "You're _changing_ me, Karen. You're making me… hopeful."

Karen heard, in those words, an answer to what she'd said a few hours ago—maybe the only answer he could give right now.

So she considered her response very carefully, even as the look in his eyes held her still more firmly than the pressure of his body or the strength of his hands.

"Wow," she said with a gentle smile, "that must really, really suck."

Carlton laughed, oh he laughed, and how it tugged at her heart to hear it. He kissed her deliciously, promisingly, and slid out of bed over her protests.

When he was dressed, his overnight bag in hand, he said, "You'll have to come down and close the garage door after me."

_Take a chance_. "Stop in the kitchen and check the drawer under the spice rack. There's an extra garage-door opener there."

He hesitated. "I'll… give it back to you at the station."

"I won't accept it." She smiled, sitting up in bed, letting the sheet fall, and Carlton shook his head warningly. But he couldn't fight both battles—opener vs. temptation—so he only nodded, and closed the bedroom door behind him when he left.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Time was a little short, so Lassiter skipped his morning run (feeling certain he'd had a sufficient amount of cardio-vascular exercise during the night), and ended up at the police station earlier than his usual 'early.'

He briefly considered going down to Holding to check on Spencer, but rejected the idea. First, the days when it would have amused the hell out of him were gone; second, Spencer would no doubt regard it as gloating, and third… it didn't matter. Nothing would change who Spencer was. Smart, resourceful, even witty at times… but married to his independence and refusal to grow up. He was damn lucky to have Guster and Henry stick by him—and Lassiter hoped Spencer would appreciate the time he'd had with Juliet as well as understand what he had done to lose her.

Settling in with his coffee, he pondered how he was going to keep the images from last night out of his head. Or hormones.

Not just the images: what Karen said. The way she made him feel.

The garage door opener, and what that bit of plastic might represent.

Maybe he should have gone for his run after all; Boss the cat might have offered some insight.

Karen made it in at her usual time—fresh and collected and elegant as always—but no sooner had she cast a smile down the hall at him than Henry Spencer appeared behind her, calling her name peremptorily.

_Hmmm…_

Henry pointed down the hall at Lassiter. "You too, in here, now."

Karen looked between them, wary, but nodded for Lassiter to join them in her office.

Refusing to sit, Henry paced for a moment and then said, "Okay. Karen, you gave me a message for Shawn a few days ago. A message about change. Now he's sitting in one of your cells—and don't get me wrong, he deserves it; he broke a law deliberately for a dumbass reason—but I need to know, not just as his father, but as the consultant liaison, what the hell's going on."

She stared at him a moment.

Lassiter said, "You're making demands _before_ she has a cup of coffee?"

"She's tough," Henry scoffed. "Let's hear it, Karen."

Her eyebrows arched. "I'm not comfortable with you making _demands_ of any sort. You do work for me, remember, and I'm not technically obligated to explain anything to you. 'Please' goes a long way, though."

When he started to speak, she held up her hand.

"Relax. It's very simple. Shawn's behavior has gone unchecked long enough. Everything we've tried has failed, including sending him and Gus to the Academy. But there comes a time when the crap just has to _stop_, Henry. And that time is _now_."

_Well said_, Lassiter thought, and glanced at Henry's inscrutable expression.

"My immediate plan is to drop the charges and have him released within the next hour. The next thing I'm doing is figuring out exactly how to implement the changes which _must_ occur if Psych is going to keep working with us. Beyond that, I don't know what else to tell you that you don't already know."

Henry let out a breath, and finally sat down. "Look, he's my boy, and I admit I have a hell of a lot to do with how he turned out, but some of that is _good_, Karen."

"A _lot_ of it is good," Karen agreed. "However, you're not responsible for _his_ choices. You haven't been responsible for his choices in a long time." She stood up. "Now, I really have to get some coffee, but here's the thing. I'm done expecting my people, let alone the citizens we assist and/or arrest, to adapt to Shawn. It's time for Shawn to do some adapting. That is, if he wants to get paid."

She gestured to the door, and although there was a pause, Henry went out without objection.

Lassiter rose, and held her warm brown gaze. "I've never had the nerve to tell you this before," he said, "but you kick ass."

Karen's smile was slow and as warm as her eyes. "Thank you for noticing. Would you escort me to the coffee bar?"

When they got there, Juliet was at her desk, and she turned to give them a quiet good morning. She was a bit pale, maybe a bit puffy-eyed, but she was steady, and Lassiter hoped she was still okay with her decision about Spencer yesterday.

"Vander's lawyer is here," she told them. "He's ready to talk."

Lassiter looked at his watch. "That was fast."

"I have a feeling he knows a loss when he sees one."

"Let's find out." He slugged back some of his own coffee, surreptitiously brushed his hand against Karen's, smiled when she surreptitiously brushed his back, and followed his partner down to Interrogation A with the casefile.

The lawyer was eyeing his client with some unease when they came in. "Larry Larson," he said. "You're Lassiter and O'Hara?"

"O'Hara here," she said, sitting opposite him. "Shall we begin?"

"Ah… yes."

Vander was sullen, but calmer than yesterday afternoon.

"My client is willing to admit to voluntary manslaughter in the death of Mr. Nalley."

"Let's hear it from him." Lassiter slung himself into the other chair, hands folded on the table.

Vander kept his eyes on the floor. "Nalley was trying to mug Specht or something. I walked up on it right as he stabbed him. I shot him to stop him from doing it again, but it was too late."

"Where are their wallets?" Juliet inquired.

He shrugged. "I threw them away."

"Why?"

No answer.

Lassiter suggested, "Did Specht carry a lot of cash regularly?"

Vander met his gaze briefly. "I don't know. We just played chess. We didn't talk about wallets."

No, but other people in the park had. Lassiter flipped through the casefile and found some statements from park denizens who knew Specht and mentioned that he did tend to carry cash. No one knew much about Nalley, but he had been arrested several times for brawling.

"Why do you suppose Specht was out in the park so late at night?" asked Juliet.

"He went for walks sometimes. Had trouble sleeping."

Park regulars had said so too. But something was tickling at Lassiter's brain now. Something Spencer said the day Lassiter went off on Karen. He looked at Juliet, frowning; she frowned back.

"I need a minute," he said abruptly.

"What—"

"One minute," he promised, and went out fast.

Spencer was still in Holding, slumped back against the wall, legs out in front of him. Half-asleep, or maybe just sulking; it was hard to tell. At least he had the cell to himself.

"Spencer. Memory test time."

"I always pass those tests, _Detective_," he said without opening his eyes. "How much longer am I going to be in here? Or did you just come to—"

"You said Nalley was right-handed."

"Yes." Spencer yawned. "That was easy. Give me another one."

"But the knife was found in his _left_ hand."

"Ding ding ding. So he didn't kill the other guy unless he knifed him, switched hands, and then got shot." One eye opened. "Seriously, dude. I'm _starving_."

_How could I have forgotten that? How the hell could I have forgotten—_

_Oh yeah. Ultimatum. Karen. Everything_… Karen.

"You'll be out soon." He started to leave, and then turned back a moment. "And… thanks."

Ignoring Spencer's "What the hell? _You_ just thanked me?" and subsequent pleas for breakfast, Lassiter strode back to Interrogation A and sat down again next to a puzzled Juliet.

"Mr. Larson," he said briskly, "I don't think voluntary manslaughter's on the table anymore. I think we're up to murder in the first degree."

Juliet was startled. So was Larson.

Vander scowled. "What are you talking about?"

"Yes, Detective, what are you talking about? Mr. Vander admits to causing the death of Mr. Nalley, but that's—"

"Mr. Vander," Lassiter interrupted coolly, "like many other regular park visitors, was well aware that Mr. Specht took late night walks and carried large amounts of cash. Mr. Vander, who I see in this file is left-handed, decided to join Mr. Specht that night and _liberate_ him of all that cash. It was _Nalley_ who interrupted, probably on his way home from a bar. Vander stabbed Specht, then shot Nalley and planted the knife in Nalley's left hand after wiping his prints off. He took both wallets—Specht's because of the cash, and Nalley's because it made more sense to take both if it was going to look like a mugging gone wrong."

Larson muttered a curse.

Vander snapped, "You can't prove any of that."

"Oh no? I bet if we search your place, and check out all your clothes and shoes, we might just find traces of Specht's blood. There sure wasn't much on Nalley. We might even find two wallets or some of their contents." Lassiter grinned at O'Hara. "Sound like search warrant material to you?"

"Why yes! Yes it does!" Her smile was broad. "I think I'll go get that started. Of course, if Mr. Vander here would admit to any of this—"

The man just scowled again. "I want a lawyer."

His lawyer grimaced. "Yeah. You're gonna need one."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Ahead on Karen's agenda was a conference call, a meeting with the station manager who wanted a _serious_ discussion about employees not requesting supplies in a timely manner, and a meeting with the Ventura PD chief about a proposed joint task force for drug activity at the county line. And oh yes, let Spencer out of jail as promised.

Ordinary day.

Not so ordinary, Carlton tapping at her door with a rather interesting expression on his lean face. Which she had kissed quite a lot last night. "Detective?"

"Would you like to release Spencer for a more official reason than simply deciding he's learned a lesson, which everyone knows he hasn't?"

"I think I would like that very much. Got one?"

He walked around her desk to look out her window. "He just helped break the Vander case."

"From his jail cell?"

"Vander killed Specht and Nalley. The motive was robbery and Nalley was just collateral damage. Spencer's the one—that very first day—who pointed out Nalley was right-handed, but held the knife in his left hand."

Karen glanced toward the door, where Juliet stood now.

"Carlton's the one who put it together, Chief. He flew out of Interrogation to get Shawn to confirm."

Carlton shrugged. "I've had a lot on my mind. Couldn't trust my memory."

Karen and Juliet both shook their heads. "It's okay to take credit for doing your job, Carlton. And no, I don't mind using Shawn's assistance as a better excuse to drop the charges. How solid is the case otherwise?"

"I think the DA'll like it. O'Hara just took a quick look at Vander's financials and he seemed to have a bit of a gambling problem. Getting Specht's cash during a late-night mugging might have seemed pretty attractive."

"Plus, when we talked to Nalley's friends and associates, no one can recall him owning a knife. He used his fists when he had trouble with anyone, as well as the occasional beer bottle." Juliet smiled. "Vander's good for it. His lawyer just fired himself."

Karen was amused. "That's encouraging. All right then. Please have Mr. Spencer released and delivered to my office at your earliest convenience."

Juliet bit her lip. Carlton said quietly, "I'll do it."

Her nod was grateful, and they left together. Karen hoped their partnership was back on track for good.

When Shawn Spencer was escorted in a short while later—by McNab, who closed the door as he left—he sank into a chair and looked at her with what appeared to be genuine worry. "Did I just use a Get Out Of Jail Free card?"

"Something like that. I was informed that information you brought to our attention was what helped solve the case."

"Well, yeah… wait, what?" He stared at her. "You mean Lassie… Lassiter coming to my cell actually broke the case?"

Karen allowed a small smile. "Not that Vander's admitting to anything, but it all fits. Now, I'm not saying you're going to be paid even one dime, considering you weren't hired and were warned off several times and went on to impede a police investigation, but I'm willing to drop the charges."

He let out a huge sigh, sinking further into the chair. "Thank you, Chief."

"_This_ time."

"There won't be a next time," he assured her.

"Regrettably, I'm sure you're wrong. Listen, Mr. Spencer, I'll be meeting with you and Gus and Henry soon to discuss the changes I advised you were coming. Until then, you need to stay out of my police station and away from anything which even remotely resembles a crime scene, up to and including reruns of _CSI_. Are we clear?"

He frowned, and she could almost see him thinking. "All of them, or just the original?"

"Goodbye, Mr. Spencer."

"Uh… okay." At the door, he paused to say "Thanks."

_You're not welcome_, she thought.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

One of Juliet's favorite places for lunch was a beachside joint, and if they went early enough they were always given a table. She said it was one of the few times she took advantage of the preferential treatment sometimes afforded to cops, and made up for it by over-tipping.

Lassiter wanted to take her there to get a real grasp of how she was doing post-Spencer. It had only been one day, but if she was going to relent and take him back, he wanted to know now. It was not for him to ask, and she was unlikely to say, but he knew her pretty damn well so he might be able to suss it out without a direct inquiry.

But Juliet was still steady. "I realized last night that even if I miss Shawn sometimes—and I probably will—my life just got a lot simpler. A lot less aggravation." She looked at him over her iced tea. "I understand a little of how it was for you, you know. Trying to keep your cool and be the adult all the time."

He shrugged it off. "We're moving forward now, O'Hara."

"No… not just yet. I still feel the need to really apologize to you. I know I haven't been your partner or friend—not like I should have been—for a long time. And it would be easy to blame Shawn, but it was me. _I_ let things slide. I thought you were wrong for being upset when you found out we were dating, but _I_ the one who was wrong."

"Do _not_ forgive me for the polygraph," he muttered.

Juliet laughed. "I won't. Not completely. But I handled it badly and I'm sorry. And nothing like that is ever going to happen again, Carlton. I promise."

He met her dark-blue, earnest gaze. "So do I, partner."

"Now, like you said, we move forward. Do you have any idea what the Chief's decided? It seems like you've been in her office a lot lately."

Thank God she was cutting a piece of her enchilada at the moment, because Lassiter felt himself blushing. "I don't know for sure, but Spencer getting arrested for obstruction probably works in my favor."

"You think?" she laughed, and pushed the bowl of chips closer.

"Pretty sure," he agreed with a grin.

Yeah… moving forward looked do-able.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton called her at nine p.m. and asked if she wanted company.

Karen told him she would like nothing more.

She let him in the garage door, made a mental note to give him that key as well, and up in her bedroom they undressed each other wordlessly and made love for hours.

It was unthinkable that it should not always be so.

She stroked his hair as he lay beside her, trailing her fingers down his shoulder and arm, and his sleepy blue eyes showed emotion she knew she echoed.

_Someday you'll tell me._

_Because someday you'll admit to what I already know is true_…

… _and I can wait as long as you need me to wait._

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	10. Chapter 10: Coasting Home

**CHAPTER TEN: COASTING HOME**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_**(the end of the saga) **_

_**(note: as with Chapters 1 and 2, some dialogue is from "Lassiter Draws The Line," the story which inspired this one)**_

**. . .**

**. . . .**

He woke in the pre-dawn light and again watched Karen sleeping, but this time he kissed her forehead to wake her.

"Mmmm," she purred as she pressed to him, hooking her leg over his and burrowing her face into the crook of his shoulder.

"That's what I was thinking." He kissed her hair, stroking it lightly, and had no idea what to do about the fact that she seemed happy with him in her life.

Karen tilted her head back and smiled at him. That was all, just a smile.

"What?"

"I like looking at you."

"You've looked at me for years. Never made you smile before."

"Oh no? Well… doesn't that go both ways?"

"I wasn't _supposed_ to look at you. You were married. And my boss."

"And now I'm divorced."

"But still my boss."

"Not right now, I'm not."

"Actually," he countered smoothly, "I thought the rule was the woman is _always_ boss."

Karen laughed. "That's true, but I think you know what I meant."

"Yeah…" He sighed, letting her kiss his jaw. "Karen. If this gets out."

"Which it will."

He studied her; she seemed calm. "Which it will. I don't want it to affect your position."

"How could it?"

"Karen, come on. The Chief of Police having an affair with her head detective?"

"I'm single, you're single, we both have excellent service records, and as long as we're discreet and I get independent verification from now on when it's time for your performance reviews, what can anyone say about it?"

Lassiter stared at her, wanting so desperately to believe.

"And it's not an affair," she whispered. "I know it scares the hell out of you, but I don't consider this temporary." She sat up abruptly, holding the sheet up. "I know you're freaked because I'm the Chief and I have a child—most men wouldn't want to step into a relationship with _that_ complication up front, and—"

"_I_ would," he interrupted, his heart thudding.

_Yeah. I said it._

Karen was still, and then finally sighed, a faint smile curving the lips he wanted to kiss again. And again. "I'm very happy to hear that."

He sat up too, taking her hands, searching for her heart by way of the look in her eyes. "But I'm not… I'm not easy, Karen. I'm not easy to live with, or to stay with. I'm not someone women want long-term. How can you think you really want this when you know me like you do?"

She leaned in and kissed him softly. "_Because_ I know you like I do. All I'm asking is that you give this time, and trust me. Trust… _us_."

_Trust us._

"It's insanity," he whispered back.

"Yeah? You're the bravest man I know, Carlton. You see trouble, you run toward it. Some people would say _that's_ insanity. I'm sure _I've_ called it insanity now and then."

He closed his eyes, just letting it—Karen, and Karen's certainty—wash over him for a moment. "Time."

"That's all I'm asking."

He felt her kisses on his face, his forehead, his eyelids, gossamer gentle and warm.

"I can do that," he breathed, feeling his heart expand with hope.

Karen kissed his mouth, murmuring, "Say it again."

"I can do anything," he said more confidently, and pulled her into his arms to show her.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_It is written_, she thought, and a moment later, it was printed. The document she'd created to outline her decision about Head Detective Carlton Lassiter and the Psych agency was ready to be shared and its contents implemented.

Karen read it over for the tenth time.

Before the eleventh read, she allowed herself a minute to bask in the afterglow of her early morning conversation with Carlton. She believed now that he _would_ try to trust her with his heart, though he hadn't used those words—and that he understood she was no frail creature who'd bail at the slightest sign of imperfection on his part. Because, uh, seven years as his supervisor had pretty well inured her to his imperfections, and she definitely liked him anyway.

He was coming to dinner tonight, and while she wasn't ready to introduce Iris to the concept of Mommy having _sleepover_ friends, she was ready (and pretty sure Iris could handle it) to at least introduce her to the concept of Mommy having a boyfriend.

They could be discreet. They _would_ be.

She shivered, remembering exactly what they had to be discreet about, and why Carlton Lassiter was damn well worth being discreet about.

_Back to the document, dear. _

Once she was satisfied everything was laid out, she set it aside and called her head detective and his partner to her office.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"This is it," Juliet said in a low voice as she walked with him. "This is it!"

"Settle down, O'Hara," he warned her. "There's as much a chance she'll kick me to the curb and give Spencer my position."

She promptly punched him in the arm, hard. "Not funny. Or damn likely."

He smirked, and she punched him again. "Ow!"

"Violence between officers is frowned upon," Karen said with a smile as she ushered them in. "Have a seat. This won't take long."

"We're _both_ fired," he whispered to Juliet, but dodged her fist just in time.

Karen's eyebrows went up and she was amused, but Juliet was right: this was it.

She took a breath as soon as they were seated. "I'll just jump right in. I don't want you to step down, Carlton. You're not only an excellent detective with a very impressive record, you're also organized and efficient and keep the entire detective squad focused and productive. If you could just keep your gun in its holster, and maybe not be quite so quick to assume the worst about people, you'd be damn near perfect." She smiled faintly. "Don't let that go to your head."

He was trying to beat down the instinctive blush: while his work-related ego didn't usually need any help being puffed up (a fact he'd told a psychologist once with reasonable calm), it was still unexpectedly nice to get unsolicited praise from his superiors… and not just because this one was his lover now. "I won't," he assured her, and could almost feel Juliet's smile, though he would not look at her.

"And you, Detective O'Hara, seem to be the best partner for Lassiter. The differences in your personalities complement each other and while I'm sure you'd make an excellent partner for any of my detectives, I have no good reason to separate you from this one as long as it's working so well."

Juliet murmured, "Thank you, Chief." Her relief was palpable.

"So that brings us to Mr. Spencer." Karen shook her head slightly. "First, let me apologize to you again, Carlton, for my role in all this."

He started to protest; he thought he'd made it clear—both in this office and privately—that no one had to fight his battles for him, least of all over a tornado like Spencer.

But she overrode him. "You were right to say his behavior makes the whole department look bad. By not stepping in—by letting myself believe your personality conflict was the root of the problem—_I_ am guilty of letting an unacceptable situation get progressively worse. I allowed the working conditions for my best detective to degrade to the point he considered quitting a viable option, and I am, quite honestly, appalled that I dropped the ball to that extent."

Lassiter was at a loss. She was saying, very sincerely, what he hoped he would say if he were in her position, but there was no idea in his head as to how to respond.

Leaning forward, elbows on the desk, Karen went on. "Now, since you were prepared to either step down or quit, I'm going to assume you're willing to make at least one significant compromise instead."

"Yes," he said at once. "Name it." Nothing could be that bad after what she'd just said.

"Psych has assisted with numerous cases, and I can't justify cutting them off as a resource. They're too well-known by City Hall, for one thing, and it would be a disservice to the city of Santa Barbara if we turned our back on the chance to solve some cases simply because Spencer's an ass." She glanced at Juliet. "No offense."

"None would be taken even if we were still together, Chief," Juliet assured her calmly.

"Therefore, when Psych is needed on a case, you'll pass it off to another set of detectives. Without question, without hesitation. No matter how big, how flashy, how career-making, you and O'Hara will pass the case off immediately and Spencer will work with that team." She looked at him steadily. "We have a lot of good detectives in the squad and there's no reason they can't get some of the glory, as well as some of the experience of working with Psych."

"Deal." He looked at Juliet then, realizing he shouldn't speak for her. "Sorry. It's your career too, but I say yes."

"I don't want a _career_. I want to be a detective." She gave him a little smile and he felt a bit as if she'd kissed his cheek.

To Karen, he said firmly, "We accept. What else?"

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

She glanced at Juliet, who nodded as well. "All right, good. Now, I'm aware that Spencer has a tendency to show up at crime scenes before we know whether we need him, so my solution for that problem is more direct. If he hasn't been called in, he's not welcome. It will be a standing order among all crime scene personnel to treat him as any other interfering civilian if he doesn't have preauthorization to be onsite. He will be removed immediately. This goes for Guster, too."

Lassiter stared. It was Christmas. In April.

As if sensing his masked enjoyment, Karen allowed a hint of a grin to show. "Second offense, removal plus a fine to Psych. Third offense, suspension of their services for three months. Fourth offense, we sever our consultancy arrangement with them completely and look to other area psychics for assistance if we need them. That'll be Henry's purview."

_Oh, Henry wouldn't like that_, Lassiter knew, and how did one go about seeking out hyper-observant non-psychics anyway? Henry might as well just hire himself.

"With this plan in place, if it _should_ ever come to pass that we need to permanently sever our dealings with Psych, the documentation of the incidents leading up to it will be our defense for doing so."

She took another deep breath, and Lassiter's man-brain admired the way her chest rose in the process. A lovely, lovely woman was Karen—and not just because she was saying these remarkable things.

"Finally, there is the matter of how Spencer conducts himself during investigations, which is ultimately the reason we're having this conversation." She looked rueful. "We can set the rules on his access and who he works with, but I'm not sure anyone will ever be able to control his speech. If he had his father's self-control, maybe, but he's thirty-six so somehow I doubt we should expect him to develop that skill now."

Juliet muttered something which sounded like "damn straight," but Lassiter couldn't be sure. It might have just been that he was thinking it himself.

"So I'm going to apply the same rules regarding his access to his mouth. If he publicly insults you or any other officer in the course of doing your jobs, he'll be removed, fined, suspended and later, er, severed, in that order. But be warned, Detective Lassiter, that you are expected to rise above the temptation to respond to anything he might say. When I ask witnesses about any verbal altercations between you, I expect fully to _never_ hear that you behaved in anything other than a completely professional manner. That means no return fire, no gloating, nothing but neutrality. Always. Understood?" She waited for his nod. "Obviously, whatever you say to each other in private is between the two of you, but I'd strongly advise you to always be the better man, because even in private, Carlton, your first responsibility should be to the department and its good name."

Lassiter believed that was true (apart from the small matter of his intimate relationship with his boss, the Chief of Police). "Agreed. I promise you'll never hear anything negative about my behavior toward him." He'd have to ask later if eyerolls counted.

"I'm glad to hear it, because if you don't comply, it'll turn up in your performance review—for starters." She sat back again, seeming to have come to an end. "I'll be meeting with Spencer, Guster and Henry later today to lay out these new protocols. It's certainly in Spencer's best interests, for his livelihood, to comply. I'll let you know if he doesn't."

Lassiter looked at Juliet; they both looked back at Karen.

"Any questions?" she asked mildly.

"No, ma'am," he said.

"Then you're dismissed. There's plenty of work to be done and you're just the people to do it."

He and Juliet stood, and he thanked her quietly for her consideration.

Karen nodded, and when they were nearly to the door, said, "Oh, and Carlton, for what it's worth? I know you _can_ beat the crap out of him, like you said last week, but be sure you can make good on that promise of not leaving a mark." She was grinning.

He heard Juliet laugh a little, and thought—though he could not repress a smile—that he should perhaps only say, "Understood," and leave it at that.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**= THREE MONTHS LATER =**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Stakeout. Midnight, outside a warehouse where an exchange of illegal weapons was supposed to take place.

Everyone was in position, and the exchange was happening in thirty minutes.

Lassiter wanted to get home, to slide into bed beside Karen after looking in on Iris—a nightly habit now even when he didn't stay over—and absorb the warmth Karen gave him both physically and psychologically.

Beside him, Juliet yawned.

He cut off his mike and made sure hers was off too. "O'Hara. I… I need to tell you something."

She turned her head, curious. "What is it?"

Yet he fidgeted. Of all times to get nervous about something: was he thirteen?

Juliet smiled. "Is it about you and the Chief?"

He was relieved and yet embarrassed—and somehow not surprised she knew. "Are we obvious?"

She tilted her head, considering. "Not really. I just noticed… well, I noticed you were happier, and then I noticed you two smiling at each other a lot. I _also_ noticed you getting called to her office several times a day, but you never seem to have anything to tell me afterwards."

He blushed. That was the one thing they still had to get under control: their mutual need to just have a few minutes now and then to speak privately, even if they were separated by Karen's desk. One-on-one 'face-time' was essential now. He didn't know how it was for Karen, but looking into her beautiful dark brown eyes, lit by a smile, was a restorative _he_ could no longer do without.

"But," Juliet said in a more teasing manner, "what really did it for me was that every time I glance over at your desk, _you_ seem to be looking toward her window, aaaand her blinds are usually open just enough for you to see her."

"Crap," he growled. "I was afraid that would get me in trouble."

She laughed delightedly. "Well, I think it's a good thing, and I knew you would tell me when you were ready. When did it start? And _how_?"

He couldn't blame her for being surprised; who would ever expect cool, collected, in-charge Karen Vick to become entangled with one of her employees at all, let alone him? "It started after my ultimatum," he said simply. "As for how, I have no idea. I guess she's insane."

"Don't make me punch you in the arm, Carlton. How are you getting along with Iris?"

"Iris is one _great_ little kid." She really was, and she _liked_ him, and so far she hadn't objected at all to him hanging around her mom. "She already wants to be a cop when she grows up."

"You're smiling," Juliet said with satisfaction. "I'm really happy for you. And since we're trading secrets, remember that veterinarian I met a few weeks ago?"

"I do; what about him?" She'd eased out of her post-Spencer mourning fairly well, and fairly soon, and was able to be friendly to Spencer when he was in the station working with other detective teams. For his part, Spencer seemed to need more time to recover from the breakup, but Lassiter considered it a sign he _could_ learn from his mistakes.

"Third date coming up." She beamed. "He's really nice and has a great sense of humor and he's… he's an adult, Carlton, which I appreciate more than ever." Laughing, she added, "And he has the right idea about women, too. He says we're here to make men better. He even named his cat Boss. She is _the_ most beautiful shade of dark gray."

Lassiter put his head back and laughed, and it was a few minutes before he could explain why to O'Hara.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton didn't get home until after two a.m.

Karen was awake, not exactly waiting up for him but not willing to lose herself completely to sleep until he was home.

_Home_, yes. And safe. With her. Preferably in her arms.

Definitely in her arms.

She heard him on the stairs, quiet but unmistakable, and she heard the pause as he stopped to peek into Iris' room. It warmed her immensely that he already loved her little girl. She suspected he'd fallen in love the day Iris dropped frozen yogurt on his shoulder.

After a moment, he came into their room, closing the door behind him. "Hey," he said. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"I wanted to see you." His return smile told her he didn't mind at all. "How did the stakeout go?"

"Perfect." He sat on the edge of the bed and bent to kiss her. He was tired and there were dark circles under his ever-remarkable blue eyes, but his kiss was very much alive with energy. "We got them all."

Karen grasped his jaw and pulled him in for a deeper kiss; more tongue, more teeth, more everything—what she always wanted with this man. "Mmmm, that's what I like to hear."

"I like to hear what you like to hear," he murmured against her lips.

"I like to hear you say you love me," she murmured back.

Carlton smiled. "I've been telling you ten times a day for weeks. You're not tired of it?"

"Nope." Karen started pushing his jacket and holster off. She'd known he loved her long before he said it, but hearing the words in his smoky voice just made her go all melty, every single time.

He cast the jacket to the floor and undid the holster, putting that and his gun in the bedside drawer. Karen stroked his back as he bent to lock up the weapon, and he sighed under her touch. "I love you."

"Come again?"

He grinned, turning back to her and pinning her to the bed as he kissed her hard. "I, Carlton Lassiter, love you, Karen Dunlap Vick." He kissed her again, trailing his warm lips down her throat to where her nightshirt began. "I love you and I am yours for as long as you'll have me."

"Sixty years," she suggested breathlessly.

He laughed, and then with one hand started hiking up her nightshirt. "Sixty?"

"Covering the bases. People in my family have long lifespans." When his hand made it up to her breast, she covered it with hers through the fabric. "And I don't want to go by Vick for much longer."

Stilling, he gazed at her, various emotions flitting through those expressive blue eyes. "I can only offer you Lassiter as an alternative." His voice was low, uncertain.

"Sold," she said, and kissed him hungrily, and Carlton was hers, arousal quickly evident amid the love and emotion.

She shouldn't push him tonight; he was tired and once again she was putting her own needs ahead of his. But there was something about him, something so utterly irresistible, and in the few months they'd been together she'd never had one single doubt he was the one for her, forever.

She'd watched him slowly let go of his fears, one by one, trusting her—trusting the 'us' she'd asked him to—and finally believing that it didn't matter how fast it had happened so long as it was real and honest.

"I love you," she said, and why were there tears in her eyes?

Carlton lay with her fully on the bed, letting her unbutton his shirt as he kissed her face and throat. "No tears, sweetheart. No tears."

"They're good," she promised.

He rested his head on her pillow. "You really want to marry me?"

"Yes." She ran her fingers through his soft hair, and he sighed. "I like commitment. I need it. I need you."

"You have me. I didn't think you'd actually want to marry again, though. I didn't know whether I should ask."

Karen gave him her best stern look. "Excuse me. The Chief of Police cannot simply shack up with a man."

His smile eased the tiredness from his face. "Of course not. I would be honored to stop dishonoring you."

She draped her leg over his. "Well, don't rush. If you're not too tired, I wouldn't mind being dishonored tonight."

His smile was as wicked as her intentions, especially when his hands moved to cup her ass and pull her closer to him. "We might be overdressed."

"That won't be a problem for very long." She resumed unbuttoning his shirt, sliding her hands across his furred chest, teasing his nipples and planting kisses on his skin, and for his part, he disposed of his belt and slacks.

Skin on skin, moving and sighing together, all kisses and touches and love, they soon found their perfect rhythm, familiar and yet new every time. Karen clutched at his back and opened her mouth to the heat of his, seeking fullest connection as he pushed into her, as he felt her encompassing him.

He gasped out her name as he lost himself in her, and she felt his love like waves on the ocean, steady and strong and endless. She hoped he felt her love the same way.

Later, while they settled down, he mumbled something against her shoulder.

"Sorry? Did you just say something about Shawn Spencer?"

"I said I owe him. For you." He used his teeth on her skin lightly, and she shivered with fresh desire.

The new policy for Psych was working. Shawn and Gus been removed from two crime scenes but Shawn hadn't pushed it as far as accruing a fine, and the detective teams they worked with were handling them well. Nobody in the department was rookie enough not to know how he operated, and word got around fast that his behavior didn't have to be tolerated. Several of the teams were kind of disappointed he'd mostly been playing by the rules.

"You mean if he hadn't been a jerk to you for so long, you wouldn't have gone off on me, and I wouldn't have woken up? Even though _I _ended up having to seduce _you_?"

He made a sound which she could only interpret one way.

"Carlton, are you snickering?" Well that was no good, because now she was laughing too.

"Yes," he admitted. "I am. And yes, that's what I meant. I owe Spencer for you."

"You want to start working with him again? I'm sure he misses you."

"Bite your tongue, woman," he growled.

Karen smiled wickedly. "I'd rather do something else with my tongue."

"So would I. Come here, future Mrs. Lassiter."

She went into his arms willingly, basking in the warmth he provided, cozying up to his chest and nuzzling his throat. "Soon. Don't make me wait too long."

"You're the boss." He stroked her back, his hands warm and gentle.

And he, she thought as she kissed her man, was the _best_.

**. . . . .**

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**T H E**

**E N D**

_**P.S. remember, Lawson227, it's all your fault this story exists. **_**;-)**


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